


Remain Nameless

by NomDeSmut



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Furiosa, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Max, Shaving, Warning: Immortan Joe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7079449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NomDeSmut/pseuds/NomDeSmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max, a rare omega male, gets added to Immortan Joe's harem after being captured by the Citadel. Without synthetic hormones, the only reliable way to induce heat in an omega is to put them in the same room with a potential alpha match. Naturally, Joe assigns his most trustworthy imperator the task of guarding him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt for the Mad Max Kink Meme that grew much bigger than I intended it to. [Original prompt](http://madmaxkink.dreamwidth.org/450.html?thread=449218).
> 
> (Same author here, just made an AO3 pseudo since I'm not very good at anonymity)

Max is almost relieved when they put him in the cell. Being locked up means fewer opportunities for escape, but it also means a set of bars between him and his captors. No more ghost-white hands grabbing and holding him, or the probing fingers of the doctor inside him. For now, at least, he's alone.

Earlier, the doctor took his blood, pricking him with a needle and doing some kind of test involving bits of colored paper. He was very excited by the results, and that was when the examination started in earnest. 

Max's shirt was lifted and his stomach examined. He felt hands pressing and then stroking as the doctor traced the faded silvery lines across his lower belly. His pants were stripped off next, his body bared and checked with painful fingers while Max yelled and spit. He couldn't bite anymore, not with the muzzle over his face, but he could still struggle. 

It was then that Max broke free, his terror finally overcoming the strength of his captors. He ran half-naked through the narrow halls of this nightmarish city, finding daylight eventually, but no escape on the other side. 

After his terrifying flight, it's something of a respite not to have the option to run. The doctor took Max's brace along with his clothes, so even if he were to escape again he wouldn't be able to get far. He's forced to be still and to breathe, finally calming the fast beating of his heart. The blinding fear clears, letting Max think and piece together what is happening to him.

Breeding stock. That's what they want. That’s why the doctor was so excited to realize Max had carried a child before. It makes him feel panicky to think about it, afraid to imagine what this place has in store for him.

It's small consolation that they'll likely be sorely disappointed in him as a breeding mare. He hasn't had a proper heat since Jess died. His life has been too chaotic since then, full of hunger and injuries and the daily struggle of scraping by after the end of the world.

Max doubts he could conceive even if he were healthier, and even then the chances of him carrying a child to term without an alpha parent around are low. His body will likely reject any pregnancy without the outside stimulus of a mate’s pheromones helping maintain the changes inside his body, already a difficult balance for omega males even under ideal conditions. He nearly lost Sprog at six months and spent most of his last trimester on bedrest, and that was while he was healthy and whole with Jess beside him. As a prisoner, stressed and afraid, and carrying the child of rape? It'll never take. 

Max startles as the outer door opens, revealing the doctor and two new men who enter the small antechamber that fronts Max's cell. Max pushes backward with his feet, trying to wedge himself further into the corner. The cold stone of the walls is a poor comfort against his back. He hugs his knees to his chest to cover himself as best as he’s able and wishes again that the doctor had at least returned his pants.

One of the men with the doctor steps forward, coming up to the bars to study Max. He's a hulking figure dressed in white with a fright mask for a face. He has some kind of ventilator over his mouth which has been painted to look like a grinning skull. Even more disturbing than the mask is his eyes, ringed in kohl and roving over Max’s body with keen interest.

"You're sure it's an omega?" the pale man says. "I thought they didn't have bullocks?"

"No, only if they've been castrated," the doctor says. He leans over the other man's shoulder and peers at Max like he's a fascinating scientific specimen. "They present as a totally normal male on the outside, but _inside_ , well, the plumbing is a lot different."

"Hm, and you're sure this will work?"

"Uh, not entirely, Immortan." The doctor licks his lips, his eyes darting away nervously. "It's going to be tricky, but I think it can be done. Used to be there were synthetics you could take, but these days the only option is to put them in with a nice, virile alpha." The doctor turns and motions to the other man, who's still standing in the shadows near the door. "That's where Furiosa comes in!"

The doctor claps his hand on the third figure's shoulder, and as the other steps into the light, Max realizes it's a woman. He hadn't noticed before because of her close-cropped hair and the layers of tight cloth wrapped around her chest that match her skin. She's holding a bundle of something in her hands, hugging it against her middle.

As soon as she comes closer, Max can smell her; a potent musk like a wave of heat passing over his skin. He hasn't been around an alpha in years, and just a whiff is enough to make a shiver pass through him. Fuck.

"Unmated," the doctor is saying, his hands on the alpha's shoulders as he pushes her to stand against the bars. "That's important, means she's putting out androstenedione and other nice chemicals that'll get him charged up, and, with enough time, hopefully send him into estrus."

The alpha woman stares at Max, looking into his eyes instead of ogling his body like the other two. He notices she’s missing a hand, one arm ending in a stump just below her left elbow. She seems tense, her jaw clenched and her lips pressed tightly together. Her eyes are a delicate green that makes Max think of Jess–but, no. He looks away. That's only the pheromones addling his brain.

"How long will it take?" the one called Immortan says, turning to walk away. 

"Hm, hard to say," the doctor says, following him out of the room. The outer door closes behind him, cutting off the rest of their conversation.

The alpha stays standing against the bars. Max can hear her breathing softly, but he refuses to look at her. He drops his head, resting it on his folded arms and hiding his face.

"You must be cold," she says. Her voice is low with a gentle rumble to it that makes a pathetic part of Max want her to keep talking. He hears the rustle of fabric and sees movement out of the corner of his eye as she passes something through the bars. "I've got a blanket here, if you want it."

She waits, but Max ignores her, refusing to look up or acknowledge her presence.

"I'll leave it here," she says, folding the blanket over the bars so it hangs through where he can reach it. 

The woman goes to stand next to the door, thankfully further away so he can't smell her as strongly, although her scent is already permeating the unventilated room. 

The doctor returns a few minutes later. He brings a group of white-painted soldiers who set up a table and a single chair in front of the cell. One of them leaves a rucksack on the ground, likely packed with some of the alpha's belongings for her long stay watching Max. "Take good care of him, Imperator" the doctor says, winking at the alpha. "But not _too_ good, mind. Heh."

The alpha sits on the chair with her arms folded and stares off into the distance. Max stays in his corner and tries to rest, doing his best to ignore her. It's hard. Every cell in his body feels like it's already in tune to her. She smells–good; tough and weathered, as if the desert wind has sanded down her edges and left only solid rock behind. She's older than Jessie was when she died, more settled into her skin and her strength. If they were meeting anywhere else, he'd gladly seek out her attention. He might even want her child, although his life doesn't lend itself to fatherhood anymore. 

Max closes his eyes and tries to rest, falling into a doze for a short while. He’s too cold to sleep properly, shivering and hugging his legs for warmth. He startles when he hears a metallic click from across the room and lifts his head to see that the alpha has a rifle slung across her lap. She roots through the rucksack and produces a small bottle and a rag, which she sets on the table. 

Even with only one hand to work with, she field strips the rifle efficiently and begins cleaning it with ease. Her fingers are quick and confident, obviously intimately familiar with the gun and all of its parts. She must have broken down and reassembled it dozens of times before, if not hundreds. It’s hypnotising to watch, and Max finds himself thinking about what those same fingers would feel like on his own body, working him with the same practiced ease. 

She looks up once the gun is in all its separate pieces, meeting his gaze through the bars. “Are you hungry?”

Max hasn’t eaten in over two days. His stomach feels hard and empty, like a rock is lodged below his ribs. It’s a familiar ache. He shakes his head. 

She gets up anyway and opens the outer door. “Organic?” A small boy comes up to her, one of the doctor’s many young assistants. He stands in the doorway and peers through curiously at Max. The alpha touches his cheek, turning his face up to her. “Go fetch my meal from the mess, pup. I’ll tell Organic I sent you.” 

He scurries away and she returns to the table to reassemble her rifle. 

“SKS?” Max says, without really meaning to. He coughs as she looks up at him in surprise.

“Type 56,” she says. “Chinese-made.” 

“Russian’s better,” Max says.

She smiles. “Probably, but it’s dependable. I like it better than an AK or an M16 even without being fully automatic.”

“Mhmm,” Max says, nodding his agreement. "Holds up better." 

She turns to face him fully and rests one arm on the back of her chair. “They told me you came in with a sawn-off shotgun. Subtle.” 

Max shrugs. It’s hard to argue with the simple power of a shotgun blast to the face. 

“What’s your name?” she asks. “I’m called Furiosa.”

“Why do you care, alpha?” Max says, and looks away. Furiosa doesn’t respond, and he sees her lower her head out of the corner of his eye, returning to her work assembling the rifle. 

Max waits until she’s distracted with inserting the spring into the bolt assembly, a tricky maneuver with only one hand. He scoots across the floor and stretches out with his fingers to snatch the blanket down from where it’s hanging. He pulls it over his shoulders and moves back to the corner of his cell. He’s relieved when she doesn’t comment or even look up, still busy reassembling her rifle. 

The blanket is worn and soft, made of tightly woven threads in alternating red and brown. It smells like her. It must have come from her bed, probably brought here on the doctor’s orders. Max grits his teeth and tries to ignore how it makes him feel calmer, almost safe. Having it wrapped around him brings back memories of nesting with Jessie, curled up in bed with her spooned against his back and her hands on his belly. He shakes his head and snaps it back against the hard stone wall behind him to dislodge the memory, relishing the distraction of the pain.

Furiosa looks up and frowns at him, but before she can say anything there’s a knock at the door. “Come,” she says, setting aside the remaining pieces of her rifle to clear the table. 

The boy is back, nearly hidden behind a tall stack of interlocking metal containers. She takes the containers from him, as well as the canteen slung around his neck, and lifts the metal lids to inspect their contents. Max’s stomach clenches painfully at the smell of hot food and he tightens his arms around his middle. 

Furiosa tears a roll of brown bread in half and spreads something on it–maybe butter, although Max can’t think the last time he saw butter–and hands both pieces to the boy with a pat on the head. He runs off with his prize clutched tightly against his chest. 

Max tries not to think about how she would make a good mother. That was probably a calculated move. Who knows what she’s like with children normally. A boy that age shouldn’t be in this hellhole anyway. 

“Hungry?” she asks, coming up to the bars and holding something out to him. Max shakes his head but she stays where she is, her hand extended. “No point in starving yourself. It’ll get cold.” 

Max hesitates for a long moment, keeping his eyes focused on the grey rock next to his head, but eventually he breaks. He gets to his feet and shuffles closer to the bars, trying to stay as far back as he can. She’s holding out one of the rolls and he can see that it’s steaming slightly where she tore it open. She sets it down on the bars and sits back down on the chair, leaving it for him. Max approaches cautiously, twitching and hesitating several times before he works up the nerve to reach out and take it. 

He retreats back to his corner and shoves the bread through the muzzle and into his mouth, unable to stop a moan from escaping his throat. It’s delicious, soft and rich, if oddly textured, and still warm from the oven. The spread she put on it is _jam_ of all things, amazingly sweet and tangy on his tongue. It’s the best thing he can ever remember eating. 

When he looks up, there’s another roll balanced on the edge of the bars as well as some small chunks of something orange. He’s less tense this time about coming over, standing within touching distance after he takes the second roll. He eats it in three bites, licking the crumbs off his fingers. When he’s done, he picks up one of the little orange things, finding its texture firm and slightly slimy. 

“They’re carrots,” Furiosa says, eating one herself as she watches him. “We grow them here.”

Max pops it into his mouth. He remembers carrots, vaguely. The flesh is soft on the outside with a hard crunchy core. He quickly eats the rest. “Grow?” he says, his mouth still full.

“On the rooftops,” Furiosa explains, standing up and approaching him with one of the metal plates in her hands. There are other vegetables on the plate, small multicolored bits of white and purple. There’s also a thick piece of red meat still clinging to the bone. She picks up the meat as she comes closer and Max licks his lips. It’s juicy and fresh looking, a trickle of grease running down her fingers as she offers it to him through the bars.

She holds it patiently, watching him and waiting. He realizes she’s not going to put it down this time; he has to take it from her. Max swallows. His stomach is rumbling painfully now that it’s awoken, and the thought of meat is almost unbearably enticing. 

“It’s goat,” she says, raising an eyebrow. 

Max adjusts the blanket, hitching it tighter around his middle, and then finally steps forward to take it from her. Her fingers brush his own and he shivers, telling himself it’s only the meat that he’s excited about. 

He backs quickly away into the corner and takes the first bite. It’s awkward to get it past the muzzle, but he manages to twist it through sideways. It’s salty and wonderful, the tender flesh giving under his teeth as he tears off a chunk. No, _this,_ without a doubt, is the best thing he’s ever eaten. He naws at it, worrying at the bone and sucking every bit of the savory flesh he can get. Once he’s licked it clean, he snaps it open to get at the marrow. He’s a slobbering mess when he’s done, licking the salt off his fingers and trying to wipe his mouth through the metal of the muzzle. 

Furiosa is still standing at the bars when he looks up, the canteen in her hands. She holds it up with a silent question. Max barely hesitates this time.

The canteen is too big to pass through the bars, so she tilts it forward, offering it to him. He tilts his head so he can fit the spout through the side of the muzzle, sipping at the cool water and getting close enough that her hands brush his face. Once he’s started, he can’t stop drinking, taking desperate gulps and reaching up to try to get her to tilt it higher. She lets him drink it dry, a slight smile twitching at her lips.

Max wipes his mouth and licks up the last drops, panting as he catches his breath. Furiosa has a rag in her hand and she motions to him to come closer. He stays where he is, but doesn’t move back as she reaches through the bars to clean his face. She slips the cloth between the metal over his face and pats his mouth, cleaning him as best as she’s able. She runs it under both sides of the muzzle, brushing off his beard and probably getting a lot of dust and road grime as well as grease from his meal. 

Her eyes soften as she looks at him, becoming almost kind. Max is suddenly aware of how close he’s standing. She could cup his face in her hand if she wanted. He moves backward until he feels the cool stone of the wall against his back and slides down it into a crouch. He brings the blanket up over his head to give himself some cover, and resolves to ignore her for the rest of the night. 

\-----

Max spends a long uncomfortable night on the stone floor of his cell. He sleeps fitfully and his nightmares are worse than usual. He keeps thinking he feels hands reaching for him, pale white fingers appearing out of the dark to grab his arms and legs and twist and pinch. 

He dreams he's trapped, held down by a dozen hands while fire blooms around him with the choking smell of guzzoline and thick black smoke. 

He's on his feet when he comes back to himself, turning in circles and looking for the threat he knows is somewhere nearby. His shoulder slams hard into the metal bars before he remember where he is. 

He hears a scuffle on his left and trips in his rush to get away from the source. His bad knee feels weak, turning to water under his weight and sending him sprawling with a sharp stab of pain. His brace, that's right, they took his brace. 

There's a scrape and a flicker of light from outside the bars, sparks flying at the strike of flint. A small lantern blooms to life, illuminating a face peering through the bars at him. Max's heart seizes in his chest as for a moment he thinks that it's one of skeletal demons of his nightmares come to drag him back into the tunnels. 

The light shifts and Max remembers, no, it's his–Furiosa. The alpha they put in with him to jumpstart his heat. "Only a dream," she says. 

Max scoots back into his corner with as much dignity as he can manage. The blanket is lying on the floor where he kicked it off in his sleep and he pulls it back over his shoulders. He presses his face against the soft weave and breathes in the comforting scent before he remembers who it belongs to. He glances up to see if Furiosa noticed, but she's busy adjusting the lantern flame. She sets it low and sits back in the chair, folding her arms and leaning her head back against the wall beside her. 

Max knee is on fire, pulsing with pain from the strain of supporting his weight unaided for too long. Max stretches out and tries to find a more comfortable position. He’s mostly unsuccessful. 

Furiosa leaves the lantern lit and the glimmer of flame throws the stark shadows of the bars across the stone floor. Max could tell her to turn it off–he's not a child afraid of the dark, his ghosts come out no matter the time of day–but he figures it's her guzzoline to waste. 

In the morning, the small boy returns with a bowl of oatmeal and fruit for breakfast. Two meals a day? Clearly they live in luxury here, at least when they aren’t riding the wastes like skull-faced demons and kidnapping unsuspecting passersby. 

Furiosa pulls the chair up to the bars and motions for him to come closer before taking any for herself. The bowl is too big to fit through the bars, so she holds out spoonfuls to him. Max scopes the first bite up on his fingers and licks them clean, but, frankly, it feels disgusting and his hands are even dirtier than normal. He gives in and lets her feed him after that, fitting the spoon awkwardly past the muzzle and into his mouth. 

Max leans one shoulder against the bars and tries not to look at her sitting above him. She doesn’t comment on his position or try to touch him, so it doesn’t feel overly degrading, but it still rankles to be sitting at his captor’s feet being fed like a prized pet. 

He finishes the oatmeal anyway. It’s good, filling and warm. It’s been ages since he’s had so much solid food instead of desert vermin and whatever bush tucker he can scavenge. 

There’s a small reddish-orange fruit on the plate and Furiosa peels back the skin, filling the room with the smell of citrus. It’s not unlike her own scent—sharp and fresh and unmistakable. She splits the sections apart and passes half to Max. He retreats to his corner to eat it and savor the sweet juice. He’s relieved she didn’t try to feed it to him, although the thought of her pressing the slices into his mouth, her fingers brushing his lips, makes a shiver quake down his spine.

It occurs to Max as he’s licking the juice off his fingers that his small cell has nowhere to relieve himself, not even a bucket. He’s dehydrated enough that it hasn’t mattered up to now, but with all the food and drink they’ve been giving him, it’ll be a problem soon. 

“Uh –”

Furiosa glances up, looking at him curiously. “What’s wrong?”

Max motions around the cell. “Where’ma supposed to have a slash?” 

Furiosa huffs softly and gets up to leave. She returns a minute later with a bucket hanging from her left elbow and a glock in her hand. The doctor is with her and Max’s heart skips a beat when he sees the ring of skeleton keys in his hands. They’re going to open the door. 

Furiosa points the handgun at Max while the doctor fumbles with the keys. “Back against the wall,” she says. “Hands behind your head.” Her aim is solid, but she’s at a slight disadvantage not being able to steady it with a second hand. 

Max obeys, the blanket falling to the floor from where it’s wrapped around his waist and leaving him naked. All of his muscles tense as the doctor inserts the key and turns it until the lock clicks with a heavy metallic clang. He pulls open the cell door and Furiosa starts to step inside, but she’s stopped by the doctor waving a finger in her face. 

“Ah ah ah,” he says, taking the bucket from her. “I’ll take that.” 

She gives him a flat, unamused look. “Organic, I think I have more control than that.”

The doctor laughs and steps inside the cell to set down the bucket. “No offense, Imperator, but you’ve never had to deal with this kind of temptation.”

One of Furiosa’s eyes twitches and the doctor glances over his shoulder to give her a leering smile. Both of their eyes are off of him for a split-second and Max is ready. He launches himself at the doctor and knocks him aside with a quick punch to the kidneys. The bucket clangs to the floor and the doctor goes down, grunting in pain as Max darts past him out the open cell door. 

Furiosa has a clear shot, but instead of firing at him she brings her leg up and tries to knee him in the crotch as he plows past her. She misses, but manages to trip him before he gets to the outer door. He lands hard on his bad knee, pain flaring and his vision swimming. Before he can catch his breath, she drops onto his back, straddling his waist and pressing the glock into the back of his neck just below the muzzle. He ignores the gun and tries to buck her off. She’s already failed to shoot him once. They must want him alive very badly. 

Several of the white-painted warriors come running into the room, probably alerted by the commotion. Three of them fall on Max, one pinning his legs while the other two each take one of his arms and hold them down for Furiosa.

“I have him,” she says. “He got the drop on Organic.” One of the warriors takes the gun from Furiosa, freeing her hand. She sinks her fingers into Max’s hair, holding him tightly and forcing his head down to press onto the cool stone floor. “Stay down, it’s over now.” 

She stays on top of him, waiting while the doctor curses and is helped to his feet by one of the warriors. “Omega cunt,” he mutters as he limps past where Max is pinned on the floor. “Not worth the spunk it takes to breed.” 

Max tries to turn to snarl at him, but Furiosa won’t let him lift his head. “You were careless,” she says to the doctor. 

“Ehhh,” he says, adjusting his jacket. “Waste of time trying to tame a feral like him. Pups gonna be unmanageable too. Joe’s getting too desperate to see sense.”

Furiosa waits until the doctor has retreated from the room before leaning down to speak directly into Max’s ear. “I’m going to get up, and you’re going back in the cell.” Max tries to buck her off again, struggling pointlessly against her weight and the hands of the warriors pinning his limbs. For a moment he’s back in his nightmare, blind and trapped as a dozen hands hold him in place.

“ _Stop,_ ” Furiosa grits out, her breath hot against the side of his face. She uses the stump of her left arm to press down on his neck while her fingers tighten in his hair, pulling painfully. “Save it.” 

Max pants heavily before finally letting his body go slack in defeat. She stays on top of him while he tries to get control over the wild fear inside that demands that he keep fighting. It’s not easy, but the rational part of his mind knows she’s right. There’s no point in continuing to struggle. Furiosa’s fingers loosen as his breathing slows and she scratches lightly at his scalp before pushing to her feet and climbing off of him. His skin tingles in every spot where she was touching him. 

The warriors drag him up and Max can’t stop a moan of pain as his knee protests. They shove him forward, throwing him into the cell so hard he’s slammed against the back wall. The door clangs shut behind him and locks with mechanical finality. 

“Good,” Furiosa says. The warriors nod to her as they leave, one of them bowing his head and knitting the fingers of both hands in some kind of salute. 

Furiosa picks up the chair, which must have been knocked over in the skirmish. She puts it back in its place next to the bars and sits down. 

Max slides down the wall to the floor, wincing in pain as his knee bends. He lays out on his side, finding the blanket where it fell to the floor earlier and pulling it up to cover himself.

\-----

Max’s knee gets worse. It swells up so he can feel each heartbeat pulsing as a sharp throb. It keeps him awake and makes sleeping on the stone floor torturous, but he welcomes the pain. It distracts him from the itching under his skin. 

He feels restless, but not with his usual need to move on and escape, or to get out on the road and _drive_. This is the kind of restless energy that wants him to go to ground somewhere safe, preferably with a mate, or at least with a suitable alpha. He can already tell it’s going to be a bad heat, the kind that leaves him an incoherent, sweaty mess by the end. 

The agitation gets to him after a while and he pulls himself up to limp around his cell, trying to stave off the building tension in the pit of his stomach. Furiosa is still sitting in her chair, and she lifts her head when he stands. Her eyes track him as he paces around his cell, first sitting in one corner and then trying another, searching for something he can’t find locked up behind these bars. 

He finally settles on sitting in the front corner of the cell with one side leaning against the bars and his feet extended in front of him. It only occurs to him after he’s settled down that he’s sitting as close as he can get to Furiosa while still keeping his back against a wall. His instincts are already driving him closer to her, overwhelming his equally strong urge to flee from any human contact. 

Sitting close to her helps for a bit, but eventually he’s driven back to his feet again. He braces his hands on the bars and leans his forehead against them, thinking about what it would take to get past them and through the outer door. The doctor’s torture chamber was full of warriors when Max saw it last, but most of them were too sick to stand up, and the rest of his assistants were small boys. Max should be able to get past them easily, but then he’ll have to find his way through the twisting dark tunnels beyond. He was too disoriented and frightened during his last escape attempt to get a good sense of the layout, and it’s doubtful he’ll get much further a second time. He shifts on his feet, growling slightly in frustration at the hopelessness of his position.

“Are you sure you should be standing?” Max blinks, refocusing on Furiosa. It occurs to him that sometimes the weakest point in a cage is the human guard standing in front of it. Pheromones work both ways. If she bonds with him now, she might be willing to help him later. 

She’s looking down at his bad knee and her forehead is creased with what might be concern. Concern is good. He shrugs, trying to think of something to say before finally settling on, “Been worse before.”

She nods at that, looking distracted and tapping her fingers on the seat of her chair. “This is only a temporary holding cell,” she says. “Eventually they’ll move you somewhere more comfortable.” 

Max snorts. He’s not sure he wants to find out what comfort consist of in this place. Or what it costs to keep it. 

Admittedly, it would probably be a good thing if they take him elsewhere to breed. It won’t do his bad knee any good to be kneeling on the stone floor for hours, even if he won’t feel the pain in the middle of his heat. 

Furiosa frowns like she knows what he’s thinking and gets up, moving closer to him. Max tenses, but doesn’t move back from where he’s standing next to the bars. Part of him wants to see what she’ll do, and another part of him wants desperately for her to touch him.

She moves to stand across from him, looking past him into the bare cell. “The Organic Mechanic could at least put down some straw to sleep on.”

“Vermin,” Max says, lifting one shoulder to shrug. His fingers twitch, but he keeps his hands tight around the bars and doesn’t move any closer to her. A small victory. 

Furiosa shakes her head. “All prisoners get deloused.” That explains the chemical powder they dumped over him when he was first brought in. He thought it might be some ritual to paint him the same color as the warriors’ white skin. “It’s not for control either,” Furiosa continues. “Just base negligence.” 

She turns her head closer to him and Max breathes in, scenting her. She’s so close now, only a few inches away. He can feel a shiver starting in his limbs, an uncontrollable jerk as his muscles release all their suppressed tension. He pushes violently back from the bars and turns away to pace in a circle. He’s only able to stay away for a few seconds before he comes back to stand across from her again, unable to fight the magnetic pull of her presence. 

“You should really sit down.” She’s frowning now, trying to get a better look at his knee which is partially covered by the trailing ends of the blanket. “Your gait is getting worse.” 

“Can’t, need to move,” Max says, the words low and harsh in his mouth. 

“Need to?” Furiosa repeats, squinting at him like she’s genuinely confused.

“It’s _working_ ,” he says, looking away so he doesn’t have to see her reaction. 

“What, already?”

“Yes, already.” He pulls on the corners of the blanket, tightening it over his shoulders. “It’s been a long time for me, but...we must be a good match.” 

“What’s that mean?”

Max gives her an incredulous look. “You don’t feel it?”

She looks away from him, not shy exactly, but like she doesn’t know how to phrase her next words. “I—do. But I don’t have any basis for comparison.”

Max tilts his head back and barely keeps from laughing. The absurdity of the situation is too much to bear. “I’m going to be a slick blubbering mess in half a day, and they’ve put me in with an untested maiden alpha. Great.”

“I’m not _untested_ —"

“Playing around with your beta comrades doesn’t count.” 

She closes her mouth angrily with a click of her teeth like he hit a nerve. She’s all challenge now, tilting her head in a subdued threat. “If it’s working, why don’t you come here?” 

Max does, because he doesn’t have much choice if she’s going to look at him like that. It would be even better if she made it an order instead of a question, but best not show her the fastest ways to unravel him right away. 

He comes to stand in front of her, moving in close so he’s looking straight into her eyes through the bars. She doesn’t reach out to him, simply standing there and staring back. The heat of her gaze is enough to make his stomach tighten in anticipation. “Well?” he asks, daring her to do something. 

One corner of her mouth twitches in a smile and she lifts her hand and slips it through the bars. She holds it out level with his face but doesn’t move it any closer. She’s offering it to him, forcing him to come to her instead of the other way around. 

He wants to ignore her, but the pale skin and green veins on the inside of her wrist are too tempting. He leans over and presses the side of his face against her hand, turning into her palm. The muzzle gets in the way, of course, but she slips her fingers under the edges so she can touch his cheek and the side of his jaw. Her thumb brushes up his chin, slipping between the heavy front bars over his face to press against his lips. Max makes a soft noise and opens his mouth. She puts the pad of her thumb against his teeth, seeming unafraid of being bitten. Maybe she wants to see if she can trust him despite the muzzle. He bites down slightly, not enough to hurt, just testing her skin with his teeth. 

“Tell me what you want,” she says, and the words make him press his whole body against the bars as if he pushes hard enough he might be able to fit through them and get to her. She tilts his chin up when he doesn’t answer, waiting for him to open his eyes and meet her gaze. “What do you want?” 

He wants to escape. He wants to be held down. He wants her in the cell with him. He wants her out on the road lying in the dust. He wants her between his legs and inside him with her one hand rough on his shoulders. He wants her gentle with her mouth covering his own and her fingers carding through his hair. He wants her arms around him and her body bracketing his own in an embrace that has nothing to do with sex. He wants a thousand different contrary things he can’t explain or even sort out in his head. He whimpers instead, giving voice to his confusion and frustration. 

“Like this?” she asks, trailing her fingers over the edges of the muzzle and back to trace the shell of his ear. Max’s skin prickles at the touch and he nods. She strokes his ear for a moment, her fingers squeezing and tugging gently, and then continues to trace the edges of the muzzle where it wraps around the back of his skull. The lock holding the hinge closed jangles and she bites her lip. “I should get this off of you.”

Max shakes his head, nearly jarring her hands. She’d have to go away to get tools and that would mean leaving him alone and he can’t stand the thought.

Furiosa looks at him in concern and makes a soothing noise low in her throat. She cups her hand on his neck, below the muzzle and above the raw wound where they placed the brand.

She seems to be waiting for something from him, so he nods his head again, looking into her eyes as she presses her forehead against the bars between them. 

“Do you want me?” she asks, and he almost rolls his eyes at her. He’s already hard, as would be apparent if she looked down. If it weren’t for the bars, he’d be rutting against her thigh already. 

“Yes,” he says, half-growing the word. “Touch me, damn it.”

“I am touching you,” Furiosa points out, a small smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. She runs her hand over his shoulders in illustration, slipping it under the blanket and scratching lighting across his back. 

Max glares at her and shoves the blanket off of himself, letting it drop to the ground. Furiosa laughs a little, but her eyes are warm, making it a shared joke and not mockery. She strokes his chest, curling her fingers through the hair there, seemingly fascinated with it. All the warriors that Max has seen in this place looked very smooth. Maybe they shave the rest of their bodies as well as their heads?

She teases his nipples while Max presses his forehead against the cool metal of the bars and moans. His nipples tighten up under her touch, pebbling into small brown circles. He whines unhappily when she spends too long on them for his taste, and she smiles before letting her hand drift further down. 

His stomach is so sensitive that her touch is almost uncomfortable, making him flinch and catch his breath as she slides her palm over the hard muscle of his abs. He’s rocking slightly now, and his cock is bobbing between his legs, begging for her attention and leaking onto the floor. He’s a dripping mess everywhere now, wetness running down between his legs and the inside of his thighs as well. 

When she finally touches his cock he can’t stop a shout from escaping his lips. She shushes him and pumps her hand, her fingers agonizingly loose and gentle. “Like that?” she asks. 

Max moans and shakes his head, frustrated when she doesn’t tighten her grip. 

“You have to tell me,” she says, teasing him with a knowing smile. 

“Please,” he manages. “Tighter, please, but, could -” She does as he asks and his words get cut off by a groan. He thrusts up into her fist mumbling incoherently. 

“But?” she prompts.

“Could—I need, inside—“ Max licks his lips, struggling to string together a coherent sentence. “I need you inside.”

“Mmm,” Furiosa says. “That’s better.” Her hand releases his cock, which is disappointing, but then she reaches behind him to part his legs and press two fingers inside of him. Max whines long and shameless at the feeling, pushing back and encouraging her to start fucking him. Her fingers prob forward into his body and she finds his prostate after a moment, slightly higher than in beta males. Max’s knees go weak. He’s clinging to the bars with both hands now, his knuckles white as he holds himself up. 

With only one hand she can’t stroke his cock and finger him at the same, which is unfortunate, but Max would much rather enjoy the satisfaction of being filled right now. The pressure of her fingers inside him immediately gives him some relief. The insistent urge demanding that he get fucked as soon as possible goes quiet and pleased. 

He watches her face as she works him, first with two fingers, and then three. She’s concentrating with the same careful expression she had while she was disassembling her rifle. It’s extremely arousing. 

He wants to kiss her, but even if the muzzle wasn’t covering his face he doubts he could fit his head through the bars to get close enough. He settles for touching her instead and he stretches out his fingers tentatively, hooking them through one of the pieces of fabric wrapped over his chest. She pushes back encouragingly so he flattens his hand to cup her breast and feel the heat of her body. He sweeps his thumb back and forth, searching for her nipples through the fabric and finally finding one hard nub. He circles it, feeling pleased when she grunts under her breath and her fingers stutter inside of him, distracted. 

"It's like this?" she asks. 

Max has no idea what that means and makes a questioning noise in response, most of his attention focused on the slick movement of her fingers. 

"Mating. What's it like that's so much better than sex?"

Max snorts. "Betas...they're just scratching an itch. They don't _need_ it. Won't go crazy without it. Don't even notice, do they?"

"They notice," Furiosa says. "Trust me."

"It's not the same."

Furiosa hums like she's not convinced. Max is on the verge of coming and tells her as much so she'll stop distracting him with talk. She pulls him in closer with her hand, squeezing his ass while her fingers are still inside him. His cock just brushes against her thigh through the space of the bars and he comes, smearing the leather fabric of her pants. She doesn’t seem to mind much, or at least she doesn’t look too disgusted about it. 

While he’s catching his breath, she loops her other arm through the bars and hooks her elbow around his waist. It's awkward, but it's as close as she can get to holding him right now, and Max appreciates the gesture. 

He doesn't have to tell her to keep her fingers where they are; thank god she knows that much. She keeps moving them in tiny circles inside him, sending aftershocks through Max’s limbs and making him twitch. Furiosa’s looking down curiously, watching his cock like she's confirming something for herself. "Again?" she asks and Max can only nod. 

She opens her mouth to say something—something smug based on her expression, but before she can get it out there’s a loud bang like a gunshot behind her. It’s the door opening so quickly it slams against the wall as the doctor and a half-dozen warriors pour into the room. 

Max is so startled he scrambles backwards and falls on his ass, landing painfully on his tailbone. That’s nearly enough to cool his ardor, although his erection sticks around stubbornly. He curls up to cover himself as the warriors crowd around Furiosa. 

“What the hell, Organic,” Furiosa says. “How about some warning?”

“Interrupting, am I?” the doctor asks, leering at her. Furiosa tries to push through the crowd of warriors to get to him, but they won’t let her pass. Two of them take her arms. “I’m afraid your time is up.”

Furiosa’s eyes widen, and she starts to struggle against the men holding her. “No, not yet. You said it would take _days_.”

The doctor’s grin widens. “Sorry, Imperator. It seems my experiment was even more successful than I dared hope!” He waves to the two men holding her arms and nods his head toward the door. “Get her out of here.” 

“Wait!” Furiosa jerks her hand free and punches one of the warriors in the face. He goes down, clutching his nose and the other men jump her in response. They’re whooping and hollering as they fall on her, apparently having a grand time while Furiosa screams in rage. 

“Sorry, Imperator!” one says as he tackles her around the waist. “Nothing—gah—personal!”

She would be a match for each of them easily one-on-one, but the group of them manages to subdue her quickly through their combined weight and strength. Together, four of them lift her bodily and carry her screaming and spitting out of the room.

Max backs further away, getting his back into the farthest corner of his cell. HIs stomach sinks as he finally understands her part in all this. She was only the warm-up act, getting him ready for the main event. He wasn’t eager to be bred by a strange alpha, but now the thought of anyone besides Furiosa touching him makes him feel sick. 

Max prepares himself as the doctor approaches the door with the key in hand. The two remaining warriors are watching him through the bars. One of them is holding a long metal rod with a sharp-looking two-pointed trident on the end. They’re both keyed up and excited from seeing Furiosa get taken down, ready for their fight to begin. Max is ready too, his burgeoning heat heightening the panic running through his blood. He can still hear the occasional thump or cry outside from Furiosa. If he could get past these two, he might be able to reach her. 

They rush in as soon as the doctor has the door open, the one with the rod coming straight at him while the other flanks right. Max brings his hand up, trying to knock the man’s weapon out of his hand. He almost succeeds, but the warrior twists his wrist, bringing the two metal tips down against Max’s shoulder. There’s a crackling sound and Max’s arm is seized with pain. The second warrior takes the opportunity to kick Max in his bad knee, sending him sprawling on the stone floor. 

Max doesn’t understand what’s happening until he sees the sparks coming from the end of the metal rod. It’s _electrified_ —a cattle prod. Before Max can catch his breath or try to shuffle away, the man pokes the rod hard into Max’s stomach sending him reeling in agony. 

Max is only vaguely aware of his arms being cuffed behind his back and his legs shackled. The warriors force him to his feet and get him walking with some more encouragement from the cattle prod. Max stumbles forward blindly, not realizing that he’s out of the cell and back in the doctor’s workshop until he sees the cages overhead. Someone is yelling behind him, a woman who sounds very, very angry. Max turns his head and sees Furiosa pinned on the ground by the four other men, her face twisted almost beyond recognition by rage. She’s a bloody mess, with a cut on her forehead streaming blood, but so are all the men holding her. 

She snarls when she sees him and nearly succeeds in throwing off the warrior holding her arm behind her back, but the other three manage to get control of her easily. 

“Come on,” the doctor says. “Get him moving.” 

In response, the man behind Max shocks the back of his shins with the cattle prod. Max limps faster, getting one last glimpse over his shoulder of Furiosa staring at him hopelessly from the ground. 

“Hurry up,” the doctor grumbles impatiently. “I need to get him up to the Vault. Joe wants to see him by sundown.” 


	2. Chapter 2

They lock Furiosa into her own quarters for a night and one day. She wonders if Joe told them not to put her in a cell or if Organic is simply too afraid of her title to lock her up himself. It would have been smarter to leave her in one of the bare cells. She smashes everything breakable in her room as well as several things she didn't know could be broken.

She spends the day pacing, slamming her shoulder into the heavy wooden door whenever the anger and frustration becomes too much. It's a pointless gesture; they've barred the door so tightly that it barely shudders in its frame at the impact of her body. 

The most frustrating thing is that she can't shake the haze of arousal. Her body is still revved up from being around the omega, and the need to find him and finish what they started is almost overwhelming. She finally breaks down and gets herself off after several hours of fruitless rage. She pushes her hand into her pants and tries not to think about what's happening to her would-be mate elsewhere in the Citadel. She tries not to think about anything at all, moving her hand mechanically over her body and experiencing her own touch purely as an unfortunate necessity. She's still dissatisfied when she's done and kicks the twisted remains of her bed frame a few dozen times in anger. 

Her hands still smell like him. 

She feels slightly more clear-headed afterward, enough to understand what's happening to her. This must be rut, her body responding to the omega's heat and going into overdrive in order to keep up with him. The Organic Mechanic didn't warn her it would happen, but he clearly expected it and planned ahead to keep her contained. 

Furiosa is used to anger; it's what drives her most days, but this anger is different. It's volcanic and overwhelming, completely out of her own control. If the Organic Mechanic or—better yet—Joe were here, she's rip them apart with her bare hands and relish the blood. 

She sleeps at some point, passing into unconsciousness on the floor next to the ruined pieces of her bed. She wakes to find that her room has gone dim. The sun is setting. She feels listless, her rage burned away and replaced with a hopeless despair. Her feral omega has been raped by Joe and probably impregnated by now. He'll be locked in the Vault and she'll never see him again unless he's found wanting and thrown out to the wretched. 

She's so exhausted that she barely lifts her head when she hears the bolt being pulled back outside her door. A few hours ago she would have rushed whoever was on the other side, but now it seems pointless. There are sure to be war boys waiting in the hallway in case she escapes, and it's not like she can fight all the way up to the Vault. 

It's Ace, likely because no one else was brave enough to come talk to her like this. He pushes the door open, scrapping over the scattered debris on the floor, and steps inside cautiously. "Boss?"

Furiosa is lying on the floor on top of the remains of her bedding, only half-dressed, not that it matters with Ace. She picks up a bit of pottery close to her hand—a piece of her water jug—and throws it at him, missing by a mile. 

Ace clears his throat and comes over to stand above her. He looks around the ruins of her room, squinting a little to compensate for his bad eyes. "Rough night?"

"Go away, Ace," she says.

He ignores her and toes her side with his boot. "Organic said you might still be violent, but you look spent to me," he says. "Ready to come out?"

"Tell Prime he can run evening patrol himself for all I care," she says, turning her face away from him. 

"Don't think he'd like that," Ace says. "But it doesn't matter because we're off patrol for the next seven days. Something about our Imperator being indisposed."

"Leave me alone then," she says. The torn remains of her pillow are nearby and she drags the edge of the ripped fabric closer to pull it over her head. 

"I could do," Ace says. "But then who would get your sorry ass up to the Vault?"

Furiosa startles and turns over at that, pushing the pillow off. "What?"

"You heard me," Ace says, crossing his arms with mock impatience. "I've got orders, now put on some clothes for Valhalla's sake."

Furiosa stumbles to her feet and searches for her shirt in the wreckage. "Since when am I allowed in the Vault?" she asks.

"I guess Immortan figures you'll be too busy mooning over your omega to try fueling up his other wives." Ace helps her locate her shirt as well as her left boot and helps get her presentable. Her knuckles are bruised and bloody, so he wraps a scrap of cloth over them and then finds her arm discarded next to the door. She wasn't far gone enough to try destroying that, thankfully. 

There are war boys stationed outside her room and standing along the corridor. She knows most of them by sight. The Organic Mechanic assigned her own crew to guard her, probably assuming she'd be less likely to attack them if she did escape. 

Several of her boys follow behind as Ace walks her up to the Vault. Furiosa keeps her eyes focused ahead, not looking at anyone they pass in the halls. She's sure rumors have spread throughout the Citadel about how she fought to keep what rightfully belonged to the Immortan. They're probably surprised she wasn't shredded for her insolence. 

The Vault door is slightly ajar and when Ace raps on the outside, the Organic Mechanic swings it open. He holds the door for Furiosa to slip under his arm and shuts it quickly behind her, as if he wants to prevent the war boys escorting her from getting even a glimpse of the treasures inside. 

Furiosa blinks, disoriented for a moment by the bright light of the setting sun, which shines directly into the western facing windows. The Vault is different than she remembers, new furnishings in unfamiliar places. A chalkboard has been set up in one corner with a row of chairs, and the draperies have been changed to a dull reddish fabric. 

There's a woman sitting in a dark corner with a book in her lap, a pale redhead who looks up curiously as Furiosa passes. Furiosa turns away from her gaze, the back of her neck itching strangely like she's afraid the girl might recognize her. 

"Where is he?" she asks.

The Organic Mechanic points up to the second level and the bedrooms above, and Furiosa climbs the stairs without waiting for him to follow. 

Furiosa rushes in as soon as she sees her omega through a doorway. They have him laid out in one of the smaller rooms on a single bed. He's on his stomach, covered by a thin white sheet that's spotted with blood. He still has the muzzle on covering his face. A chain has been connected from the back of the muzzle to a metal loop drilled into the stone wall above the bed. The chain is short, only giving him a few feet of slack that forces him to stay on the bed or risk choking himself. 

She moves closer and starts to touch the omega before remembering herself and moving back a safer distance. "Hey," she says. "Are you awake? It's me."

He comes awake violent and lunges toward her, his reach only stopped by the chain coming up short at the back of his neck. He grimaces in pain and reaches behind him to clasp the chain, gasping for breath. 

"It's okay," Furiosa says. She holds up her hands, showing him her palms. "It's me. I'm not going to hurt you."

He shakes his head sharply, the chain rattling against the metal of the muzzle, and makes a noise in response. She thinks it's only a pained gasp until he repeats it. "Jess? Jessie?" 

"No," Furiosa swallows as she kneels down. "It's Furiosa. Do you remember me? I was—" she breaks off, unable to finish. __I was the one who helped him rape you_. _

He seems disoriented, blinking and squinting like he's still not sure who she is. He's shaking a little, shivering with what might be fear or cold. Or pain. The sheet is still mostly covering him, but she can see blood dried between his shoulder blades and what looks like a raised welt. She wants badly to look at the wound, but she also doesn't want to risk frightening him.

His eyes track to the left, focusing on her side as they widen and waver in fear. She realizes she still has her arm on—he's never seen it before, and she knows it can be intimidating. She uses that to her advantage most days, awing the war boys she commands, but to him it must look like nothing more than a blunt weapon. 

Furiosa sits back on her heels and starts to unstrap the belts around her waist. She loosens them slowly, unbuckling one after another before pushing the harness off of her shoulder. She slides it into the corner of the room with her foot, holding up her bare stump so he can see she's been literally disarmed. 

"There you go," Furiosa says. "Everything's okay. You're okay now."

The omega doesn't seem to be listening. He's gradually becoming more aware of his surroundings and darting glances around the small space. It must look very strange to him, a room from another time with its painted red walls and soft furnishings. He starts to sit up, bracing his elbows on the mattress, but grunts in pain when he raises his head too high. He coughs and lowers himself back down to lie flat on his stomach. 

"Are you hurt?" Furiosa asks. "There's blood." She motions toward his back with her hand, shifting slightly but not approaching him yet. 

He coughs again and nods. To her surprise, he reaches out for her. He doesn't get very far, his hand dropping in exhaustion and hanging limp off the edge of the bed, but the intention is clear. Furiosa takes it as an invitation to come closer, and shuffles forward on her knees to his side. 

He exhales softly when she touches the back of his head and actually closes his eyes like her touch is comforting. She strokes his hair, feeling a momentary spasm of protectiveness that is almost paralyzing in its intensity. She needs to get him __out__ of here, away from Joe and the Organic Mechanic, and anyone else that might hurt him. But that's impossible. There's nowhere to go but the unforgiving desert outside.

She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, fighting to get herself back under control. She doesn't have time to be emotional right now, at least not until she's treated his injuries and cleaned him up. 

She lifts the sheet and it sticks to his back, gummed in place by blood and dried fluids. She peels it up as gently as she can and can't help a grimace of disgust when she sees what lies underneath. There are long red welts stripped across his back, covering him from his shoulders all the way down to the back of his thighs. His skin is split in several places, the blood smeared and clotted over the open wounds. 

Furiosa gasps, unable to keep her shock contained. He startles slightly, looking back at her in concern as she touches the edge of one of the welts below his shoulder blades. His skin feels hot under her fingertips. "Did Joe do this?" she asks.

He flinches and looks away, his eyes dropping to the floor beside him. Furiosa shakes her head, frowning at her own clumsiness. "Sorry, I—you don't have to tell me about it. Let me get some water and then I'll clean these."

He doesn't react as she stands up, keeping his eyes fixed on the far corner of the room. 

"I'll be back in a moment," Furiosa promises. 

She goes out to the central atrium with its round wading pool and then realizes that she doesn't have a container for the water. 

"Organic?" she calls, turning in place. There's a scuffle behind her and she turns to see an old woman peering out from the bedroom door behind her. The woman's skin is covered in small twisting black text. Furiosa is startled until she realizes this must be Miss Giddy—the history woman and midwife Joe found some years ago. 

"He was called away, Imperator," Miss Giddy says, bowing her head. 

"Did he leave his tools?" Furiosa asks. "I need bandages." 

Miss Giddy nods and turns back to her room. "One moment, Imperator." Behind her, Furiosa sees several women sitting on a brass bed and peering out curiously. There are at least three of them, all with long hair and dressed in white scraps of fabric. Are these all of the wives? Furiosa thought Joe had more these days, although she does her best to avoid listening to rumors about them.

Miss Giddy returns with a basket in her arms stuffed full of gauze and small jars. She hands Furiosa an empty water pitcher, which she refills from one of the taps against the wall. 

Furiosa tenses as Miss Giddy begins to climb the twisting stone stairs up to the second level, but she's sure on her feet despite her apparent frailty. "It's good you're here," Miss Giddy says. "He hasn't let anyone near him, including the Organic Mechanic." 

Furiosa's not surprised. He must feel terrifyingly vulnerable chained up and injured in this unfamiliar place. She's surprised he let __her__ touch him, but that might be the lingering effects of his heat and their interrupted bond.

Furiosa stops Miss Giddy at the door to the room. "Let me go in first." 

Furiosa steps through the doorframe cautiously and the omega lifts his head to look at her. He's pulled the sheet up over his back, but otherwise he's still lying as she left him. 

Furiosa kneels on the floor next to his head and sets the water pitcher on the floor. Miss Giddy follows behind and hands her a clean rag. The omega eyes Miss Giddy warily, but doesn't seem overly disturbed by her presence. 

Furiosa uses the rag to soak up some of the water and wrings it out into the omega's mouth, dripping it around the muzzle. He gasps slightly at the first taste, drops running over his lips, but quickly tilts his head to catch the rest. Furiosa soaks the rag several times and returns it to his mouth. She waits until the water level in the pitcher has dropped several fingers before wringing out the rag one last time and turning to tend to his back. 

Miss Giddy hands her salve and bandages as Furiosa works her way down the omega's back. She cleans away the dried blood and grit from each welt, exposing the raw wounds underneath. He flinches occasionally, but otherwise stays still and quiet under her hands. She uses the sheet to soak up the blood as his wounds start bleeding afresh, staining it with rust-red streaks. 

"Almost done," she says as she works on a particularly brutal stripe that runs from the crease of his leg up to his hip. She's at an awkward angle, so she walks around the bed to get a better look. 

As Furiosa kneels down, she notices two new women standing in the doorway watching. Both are dressed in the same glossimer white fabric as the other wives. One has long red hair in braids and the other has loose blonde locks. The blonde meets Furiosa's eyes, staring at her with a fierce look. She has white scars on one side of her face; thin hash marks that look self-inflicted. 

"Capable, Angharad," Miss Giddy says. "Please return to your rooms. I'm perfectly all right."

"Are you?" the blonde asks. Miss Giddy sighs and opens her mouth to chide her. 

"It's fine," Furiosa says, because it is fine. The omega is looking at the two women, but doesn't seem bothered by them anymore than he was by Miss Giddy. He's come back to himself enough to tell the difference between unfamiliar strangers and actual physical threats. 

Furiosa rests her hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently before she gets to her feet. "I'll get fresh water," she says, picking up the pitcher. It's nearly empty now, the remaining water inside stained red with blood. 

She pushes between the two women at the door and out onto the balcony beyond. The blonde follows her down the hallway, eyeing her like she expects Furiosa to try to snatch one of her sisters. 

The bathroom is at the end of the corridor where Furiosa remembers it. She turns on the sink and thrusts the pitcher under the flow of cool water. She tries not to look into the mirror above, not wanting to see her reflection and compare it to the face she remembers seeing there. 

"You're an alpha?" the blonde asks her, watching from the doorway. Furiosa nods once but doesn't say anything. That much seems obvious. 

Furiosa turns off the faucet once the pitcher is full and pauses for a moment, staring down at the clear water inside. "Were you here?" Furiosa asks, glancing over her shoulder at the blonde. "Did you see what happened to him?"

"Don't have anywhere else to go," she says, her mouth twisting cruelly. Furiosa is reminded strongly of her own time spent in this glass cage. The woman is angry, understandably. She must see Furiosa as another abuser, another cog in the system keeping her trapped here. She's right, of course, but Furiosa can't acknowledge that without breaking down herself. 

"We couldn't see, but we could hear," the woman continues. "Joe took off his belt and whipped him. He was screaming at first, but he stopped after a while."

"I don't understand," Furiosa says, pressing her lips together. "Why would he do that? He never—" she stops herself, swallowing down words that would reveal too much. "Does he treat you like that?"

The woman shakes her head. "Joe can be mean, but not like this. He kept fighting him and—the omega, he was calling your name. At first." 

Furiosa closes her eyes, feeling sick. She takes a deep breath. Now is not the time. She can get through this. She has to get through this. 

When she opens her eyes, the blonde is still standing there watching her. "Furiosa, right?" she says, and Furiosa nods. "I'm Angharad."

"Splendid," Furiosa says, remembering Joe's constant refrain of her name. He's been speaking of her endlessly ever since she became pregnant several months earlier. So she's the favorite. 

Angharad's face twists and she turns away. "Angharad," she says. She starts down the stairs, but stops like she'd forgotten something, looking back at Furiosa. "What's his name?"

"He wouldn't tell me," Furiosa says. 

\-----

Furiosa returns to the room where Miss Giddy is inspecting a wound on the omega's head. There's a bloody mark visible through his hairline above his ear that might be from the muzzle itself slamming against something. Miss Giddy parts his hair carefully as she dabs salve onto the wound. The redhead is sitting in the corner now, hugging a pillow to her chest as she rests on the floor. 

Furiosa picks up the blood-stained sheet and finds a clean corner to dip into the water pitcher. Once it's thoroughly wetted, she touches the omega's lower back to get his attention. "I'm going to clean you," she says, skimming her hand down to his thigh to indicate where she means. He nods shortly and opens his legs for her. 

Furiosa pats him approvingly and pushes his legs further apart. He's red and bruised-looking, but she doesn't see any obvious blood or tears. She works efficiently, swiping the damp sheet between his legs and down his thighs. It must be embarrassing, but she knows he'll feel better once the last traces of Joe are wiped away. She touches his side when she's done, encouraging him to turn over so she can clean his stomach and genitals. There's a bad bruise on his left inner thigh like someone kicked or punched him there, probably aiming for his balls. He doesn't look too bad otherwise. At least Joe still has _some_ modicum of self-control. 

She finishes and pats his hip so he knows she's done and he can lie flat. She wipes her hands on the sheet and moves to stand by his head. Miss Giddy is threading a needle, preparing to stitch up the cut above his ear. It's started to bleed again from her ministrations, and Furiosa takes a piece of clean gauze from the basket to press over it. 

The omega is looking up at her, blinking heavily like he's on the verge of sleep.

"It's okay," Furiosa says, kneeling down so her face is level with his own as she holds the gauze in place. "Get some rest, if you can."

He arches his eyebrows like that's not very likely. Miss Giddy is ready to start stitching, so Furiosa moves her hand, running it down to touch the side of his face. His skin is so smooth, not at all like that of the war boys she's used to interacting with. He doesn't have any tumors or lumps, and his scars are all the results of scrapes and cuts, nothing intentional, no elaborate scarification. He's hairier than a war boy though, his beard rather scruffy looking under the muzzle. 

He grimaces as Miss Giddy starts stitching, but holds still. His face is still dirty, and Furiosa wets another rag to try to work some of the dirt off. The muzzle makes it hard to clean him properly, the bars blocking off most of his mouth and lower chin. 

"I don't suppose Organic left the key for this?" Furiosa asks, looking up at Miss Giddy who's tying off her stitches. She shakes her head and takes a pair of scissors out of her basket, neatly cutting the end of the thread. 

Furiosa stands up to get a better look at the muzzle. The back is sealed with a padlock which also holds the chain in place, connecting him up to the steel ring above the bed. She tugs on the ring, but it's firmly embedded in the wall. She's not going to be able to get it off without the proper tools. 

Furiosa turns away and bends to collect her arm from where it's still lying in the corner. She hooks it over her shoulder but doesn't strap it in place, letting it hang loose at her side. 

She picks up the stained sheet off the floor next. She can smell Joe mixed up with the omega's blood and sweat and it makes her want to shred the fabric into a thousand pieces. Instead she grits her teeth and balls it up under her arm. "I'm going to take care of some things," she says, turning toward the door.

The omega grunts unhappily and reaches for her. He's stopped by the chain and growls in frustration when it brings him up short. Furiosa returns to the bed and he takes her left arm, grasping her just above where her wrist ends in its stump. 

"I'll come back later," she promises, although she doesn't actually know if she will. Being let into the Vault once was strange enough, it seems unlikely she'll be allowed back, although she'll be damned if she doesn't try. She almost feels bad for the poor war boys who will be stuck guarding the door. 

After one last look at the omega, Furiosa steps away from him, pulling out of his grasp. He whines behind her, but she can't look back. If she looks back, she'll stay. 

Furiosa walks down the stairs and out to the atrium. The other wives have left Miss Giddy's bedroom and are seated in the corner next to the chalkboard. Furiosa ignores them, although she can feel their eyes on her as she strides across the room to the Vault door. Angharad is standing by the pool and she gives Furiosa a defiant glare as she walks past. What wouldn't she give to be able to walk out of here freely as Furiosa can? Furiosa was willing to do terrible things to escape. She still does every single day. 

Ace is waiting for her out in the lush greenery of the nursery beyond the Vault door. "Everything okay?" he asks, coming up clap his hand on her shoulder. 

There isn't a good answer to that, so she simply looks at him as he checks her over. Her metal arm is still hanging loose at her side and he takes it, angling the cuff so she can slip her stump inside. She raises her arms as he buckles the straps around her waist, holding the sheet up and out of the way. 

Once that's done, she turns to walk through the nursery, heading toward Pump Room on the other side. It's evening, which means Joe will likely be there speaking with the Prime Imperator. Ace trails behind her, clearing his throat, but not asking what the hell she's doing. 

There are several pups gathered at the door to the Pump Room playing a game with small round rocks. They jump up when they see Furiosa approaching and make the sign of the V8. Two of them stay by the door while the third runs ahead to announce her entrance. 

Furiosa walks through the group of Milking Mothers seated around the edges of the room. Several look up at her. Normally she would stop to greet them, but today she simply plows past to get to the back of the room and the lookout post at the window. 

The Prime and Second Imperator are there with Joe as expected, but so is the Organic Mechanic to her surprise. He's talking animatedly with Joe and smiles when he sees Furiosa approaching. "Speak of the devil," he says.

Joe turns to look at her, his expression baleful. "I didn't summon you," he says. 

She doesn't answer, stopping in front of him and staring into his hateful eyes. Ace comes to stand beside her and makes the sign of the V8, bowing his head respectfully and looking down at the floor. Technically, he should have waited outside for her, but he's probably afraid she'll do something stupid like defy Joe to his face.

Of course, that's exactly what Furiosa came here to do. She throws the bloody sheet down at Joe's feet. "I don't enjoy cleaning up your messes," she says. She sees Ace cringe out of the corner of her eye and drop his head further. 

Joe snorts through his breathing mask. "Get used to it. You're relieved of duty until the child is born."

"What?" she says. Is this her punishment? Some kind of sick poetic retribution for becoming attached to one of Joe's wives? " _Why?_ "

The Prime Imperator looks like he wants to hit her for her insolence, but Joe only laughs. He's always found her amusing when she's too angry to hide her hatred. 

"I need you for the next nine months," the Organic Mechanic explains. "Male omega pregnancies are tricky. He's likely to miscarry if there isn't an alpha around sending the right chemical signals." 

Furiosa sighs and looks away like this annoys her greatly, although in truth it's exactly what she wants. "How often?"

"At least once every seven days," the Organic Mechanic says. "Probably more."

"Every day," Joe says, looking at her to make clear it's a direct order. "You'll move into the Vault for the duration." 

Furiosa grimaces. The idea of sleeping in the Vault again is horrifying, even if the omega is there and she can come and go as she pleases. 

"Fox in the hen house," the Prime Imperator says, grumbling from behind Joe. 

The Organic Mechanic laughs and shakes his head. "No, the others are all betas. She won't even sniff at them as long as _he's_ in there."

"He might not even be pregnant," Furiosa points out. "It's too soon to be sure." 

"Oh, he is," the Organic Mechanic says, his grin turning into a leer. "He'd still be rolling around on the floor begging for it if he wasn't." 

Furiosa shoots him a look of disgust, but Joe raises his hand before she can say anything. "Enough," he says, his eyes meeting Furiosa's. "You will visit with it daily." 

Furiosa bows her head. "As you say, Immortan."

Joe turns away and waves his hand to dismiss her. She bows once more and turns to leave, glad to escape from his presence.

Ace follows her, walking backwards at first and keeping his head down, still making the sign of the V8. He doesn't look up until they've left the divine presence and returned to the nursery. The war boys around the Vault have already been dismissed, leaving the door unguarded. 

"It's only nine months," Ace says. "Maybe even less."

"For now," Furiosa says. "Until the next time." 

Ace shrugs and pats her shoulder. "I'll reassign the crew for the duration." 

Furiosa nods and sighs, reaching down to turn the wheel that opens the massive door. "Keep the best ones on work duty so they don't go off to Valhalla before I'm released." 

"Already ahead of you, boss," Ace says, waving as he leaves her at the Vault and her new duty station. 

\-----

Furiosa doesn't return to the Vault immediately. Instead, she takes a detour across the wooden bridges to the vast mechanical bays that fill the central tower of the Citadel. It might be her imagination, but the war boys seem more deferential and eager to avoid her than usual. Rumors must have spread about what happened when they took the omega from her, probably full of ridiculous exaggerations about how she shredded a dozen war boys in her alpha rage. That, or it might simply be her fierce expression, daring anyone to try to delay or stop her. 

She goes straight to the garage where the War Rig is housed, a vast domed structure carved out of the walls of rock. She finds what she needs hanging from the back wall, along with their other tools. She doesn't see any of her crew, but Ace likely dismissed them when they were taken off the patrol roster. 

Furiosa returns to the heights of the Citadel with the bolt cutters brandished in her right hand. No one stops her, although she receives several odd looks as she climbs the endless stairs back to the tower where the Vault is housed. 

When she enters the Vault, most of the wives are gathered on the second level, clustered around the large windows that give them a view outside their cage. Furiosa feels their eyes on her as she climbs the stone stairs to the omega's room. 

He's alone, lying on his stomach just as she left him, but there's a fresh sheet draped over his back and tucked underneath him. Someone must have changed the bed linens while she was gone. That's good, although it makes her nervous that someone was in here without her. She tells herself it was probably Miss Giddy. 

He lifts his head at the sound of her footsteps, but settles back down when he sees who she is. Furiosa moves behind him and eyes the mechanism wrapped around his head. She rests her hand on the back of his skull and tests the edges of the metal. It's too tightly fitted for her to fit more than a finger underneath. She'll have to cut the padlock to get it off of him. 

The omega peers at her out of the corner of his eye, attempting to see what she's doing. She raises the bolt cutters slowly, showing them to him. "You want this thing off your face?"

He nods, still looking wary. It's probably nerve-wracking to have her standing behind him. She needs to make this fast. 

"Hold still," she says. She holds his head down as she positions the bolt cutters with her metal hand. She waits a beat, holding him in place and making sure he isn't going to startle. Once she's satisfied, she lets go to take the other handle of the bolt cutters. One hard press and the lock gives with a satisfying crunch. 

The omega reaches up as soon as the lock falls away to tear the muzzle off his face. He scrabbles at the back until he gets it open and pushes it away with a jerky throw. It lands next to him on the bed and he kicks it to the floor with a clatter. 

"That's better," Furiosa says. He looks much less fierce with the muzzle off; less like a wild animal on the verge of snapping. His features are softer than she realized, with rounded cheeks and full lips. She's struck by the urge to touch him and starts to reach out before she catches herself. 

The omega looks at her and arches one eyebrow like he noticed her aborted movement. "Thank you."

Furiosa nods and sets the bolt cutters down on the floor. "How do you feel?"

He makes a pained noise in response and rests his head on his folded arms. Furiosa takes that as permission to look at his wounds and lifts the sheet off of his back. The swelling seems to have gotten worse, but the welts look better than they did earlier. None of them look infected at least. The brand mark on the back of his neck worries her more, the lines glowing with an angry, irritated red. 

Miss Giddy's basket of first aid supplies is still resting on the nightstand next to the bed. Furiosa reaches over the omega to take out one of the bottles of salve. She opens it and touches his shoulder to warn him before applying some to the brand. He sighs softly and twitches under her fingers, but doesn't try to push her away. 

It surprises her that he's so accepting of her touch. He seems so subdued now compared to how he was before, docile even. He actually turns toward her as she's leaning over him and presses his forehead against the side of her thigh. She worried Joe might have broken him, although maybe he's just decided she's the lesser of two evils. 

She ruffles her hand through his hair, being careful of the cut on the side of his head and Miss Giddy's neat line of stitches. He sighs again and closes his eyes, seemingly ready to drift off under her touch. 

Furiosa's shoulder is starting to ache, resting as she is awkwardly on her metal arm. She gets up and moves so her back is against the headboard. The omega lifts his head, watching as she shifts to sit more comfortably with her legs stretched out next to him on the bed. Once she's done, he pushes his pillow over to rest on her legs and lies down with his head firmly planted on her lap. 

"Oh," Furiosa says, a little startled. He gives her a heavy-lidded look, blinking once, and then closes his eyes. She puts her hand in his hair and tries to settle down herself. She can feel his chest rising and falling where it's resting on her thighs, his breathing slowing as he drifts asleep. 

Furiosa watches him for a few minutes, looking down the length of his abused back and scratching gently at his scalp. Her own eyes grow heavy and she closes them, telling herself she'll just rest for a few minutes while he's sleeping. 

Furiosa awakens to the sound of footsteps outside in the hall. She's disoriented for a moment, confused as to why she's sitting in an unfamiliar room with a heavy weight across her lap. It takes several seconds for her scattered mind to take in the darkened room with its strange shapes and soft, frilly decorations. She suppresses a shudder when she remembers that she's in the Vault. 

Her legs have grown numb under the omega's weight and the dimness of the light suggests that evening has fallen. The person hesitating out in the hallway takes another step and the red curtain over the door frame parts. "Are you hungry? There's – oh." 

It's a wife Furiosa hasn't seen before. She's short with dusky skin and delicate features. Her dark hair is pulled back and covered by a scrap of the same white fabric they all wear. It gives her a closed-off look, like she's keeping herself apart from the world. She gives Furiosa a hard stare like she's angry that she's here. 

"He's sleeping," Furiosa says, her voice low. 

The woman nods and her eyes dart around the small room, falling to the muzzle on the floor. "That safe?" she asks, nodding toward it. 

"You mean is _he_ safe?" Furiosa asks. Her hand is still resting in his hair and she runs her fingers through it, cupping the back of his head. She's surprised he hasn't woken up already. He must truly be exhausted to sleep through someone else entering the room. 

The wife shrugs. "Joe said he was wild. Living on his own in the desert."

"Feral," Furiosa says. She closes her eyes, feeling tired again. "That's why I'm here."

"Ah." There's a long pause as the woman hesitates in the doorway. "There's food," she adds. "If you're hungry." 

"Thank you," Furiosa says, her eyes still closed. There's another pause before she hears a rustle of fabric and retreating footsteps down the hall. 

The omega sniffs and turns his head, butting up against her palm. "I could eat," he says. 

Furiosa blinks and looks down at him, realizing he's been awake the whole time. She's surprised she didn't notice the change in his breathing. "Okay," she says. "Do you want me to bring you something or can you get up?"

The omega lifts his head, climbing up onto his elbows. He starts to turn over, moving toward the edge of the bed, but stops abruptly. "Don't have anything to wear," he says, looking down at himself.

"Oh, right." Furiosa gets up, slightly unsteady as the blood returns to her legs. "Hold on, I'll go see if I can find you something." She has no idea what the Organic Mechanic did with his clothes, assuming he even kept them. 

Furiosa finds the wives out in the open area near the bathing pool. They're sitting in a circle around a low table that's piled high with steaming dishes of food. They stop eating and several stand when Furiosa approaches. 

"Do you have any – anything he can wear?" Furiosa asks, feeling awkward when she remembers the rags they're all wearing. 

But Angharad nods at her and turns to a small cubby carved under the stairs. She produces several bolts of long white cloth, the same as her own dress. Furiosa presses her lips together, but takes them from her. 

When she returns upstairs, Furiosa finds the omega sitting up on the bed with his feet on the ground. He's hunched forward slightly, his hand resting in his lap to cover himself. Furiosa has seen every part of him by now, but probably it feels different like this, without clinical necessity or the desperation of heat as an excuse. 

"Best I could do," Furiosa says, passing the thin fabric to him. He makes a face and holds it up in front of him, examining it. Furiosa looks away as he stands and adjusts the cloth, testing different ways of wrapping it around his waist. After trying a few different configurations he settles on pulling it between his legs and the twisting it around his waist. The loose end of the fabric hangs down in front of him like a loincloth, giving him as much modesty as he can manage. 

The women are still arranged in their semi-circle around the low table. From the looks of their plates, they've barely taken a bite since Furiosa came to ask for the cloth. 

Furiosa helps the omega down the stairs and directs him toward the simple wooden chairs lined in front of the chalkboard. She lowers him down onto one and he slumps forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

The wives are all staring at them, quiet and wary. When Furiosa approaches, Angharad heaps food from the communal bowl into a plate and holds it out to her. "Thank you," Furiosa says, taking the metal dish. It's of the highest quality, of course. There's a pile of roasted root vegetables and cabbage, as well as a large piece of brown bread and a tender slab of meat that might be dog or maybe kangaroo. It's more food in one meal than a war boy gets in three days. 

The omega looks up as she returns with the plate, his eyes locked on the food. He leans toward her as she sits and lunges for the plate as soon as she holds it out to him. He takes the meat first, tearing into it with quick, savage bites. He's clearly relieved to have the muzzle off, able to eat freely again. She watches as he starts on the vegetables, shoving pieces of parsnip and wild carrot into his mouth so quickly she's concerned he might choke. He slows down when he gets to the bread, chewing carefully on the dry texture and coughing a little. 

His face and fingers are a sticky mess, though he tries to wipe off his mouth on the back of his wrist. Furiosa picks up a torn piece of crust from the plate and uses it to clean some of the sauce off of the corner of his mouth. He eats it out of her hand when she's done, his teeth barely grazing the side of one finger.

One of the wives, the dark-haired one from earlier, fills a cup with water and brings it over to them. The omega watches her approach, stuffing the last piece of bread into his mouth like he's afraid she might take it. 

"Water," the wife says, offering the cup to him. Furiosa takes it when he doesn't move.

"Thank you," Furiosa says. She takes a small sip and then hands it to the omega who gulps it down. 

"I'm called Toast," the wife says, still hovering in front of them. She points over her shoulder, indicating each of the others. "That's Dag and Capable, and you met Angharad and Miss Giddy, of course. Cheedo on the end is the youngest, the new one." 

She pauses, looking down at the omega like she's waiting for him to respond. He keeps his eyes down, not meeting hers, so she prompts him. "What's your name." 

He darts a look at her and shakes his head, looking back down as he mumbles, "'m nobody."

Toast shrugs and looks back at the others. 

"Maybe we should call him Nemo," the tall blonde called Dag suggests. The other women all laugh at that, including Miss Giddy, although the joke goes over Furiosa's head. She glances sideways at the omega to see if he's uncomfortable. He looks a little bewildered, but not afraid. 

"Zero," Cheedo suggests, smiling brightly when several of the others giggle. They suggest several other name options, like Nil and Zilch, but mostly seem to settle on calling him "Nobody." 

The tension is broken after that, the women laugh and joking and several of them coming over to sit nearer to them. 

Most of them avoid addressing Furiosa, still shy of her, but Toast brings her another plate of food and more water. Furiosa eats a few bites and gives the rest to the omega. He's clearly still hungry, stuffing his face and then staring fixedly at the remaining food on everyone's plates. It's probably overwhelming for him to be around so much food. It's good that he's eating, but she'll have to be careful he doesn't make himself sick. 

"We can use it to fool old Joe," Capable says, still on the subject of the omega's name. "Like, if he asks who's in the upper bedroom we can say, 'oh, Nobody's up there.'"

"Who put out the Cyclops's eye?" Dag says. "Nobody!" 

The others laugh again and the omega raises his eyebrows, glancing at Furiosa like he wants to be sure she heard that as well. She shrugs. The women have their own language full of private jokes and references. When Furiosa was a wife, they had a silent code they used whenever they were in the presence of Immortan Joe and the Imperators. Furiosa can't remember any of the signs anymore, except that touching your left hand to your cheek meant "help me." She wonders if these women have something similar. 

The omega starts to relax once they're all done eating. He leans his head against Furiosa and listens with her to the others' conversations. The women break up into small groups, Cheedo and Dag going off into a corner to sit together, while Miss Giddy settles down with a book in her lap. Toast, Capable, and Angharad sit and talk on pillows next to the wading pool, one of them occasionally dipping a foot into the water. 

Furiosa forgot that the Vault could be like this. Almost... peaceful. Although the Immortan is an ever-present threat hanging over their heads, much of the wives' time is empty – long, boring days filled with nothing to do but talk. 

The omega yawns and blinks slowly. Having a full belly probably made him sleepy. Furiosa nudges his shoulder and helps him stand up. She holds onto his upper arm as they go up the stairs, but he's more steady on his feet now, and she's less afraid that he's going to faint at any moment. 

The omega detours to the bathroom while Furiosa returns to the small room that's become his by default. She lights the oil lamp on the nightstand since it's growing dark outside. She sighs as she sits on the bed, wondering if she's really going to sleep here. She doesn't have much leeway to disobey since it was a direct order from Joe himself. If he comes in here and finds her missing, there will be hell to pay. 

She takes off her boots, deciding she might as well make herself comfortable. The lack of a door is irritating. She's not sure she'll be able to sleep without one. It feels so exposed, anyone could come in here. After a moment's thought, she shoves the bed into the corner, pushing it underneath the narrow window chiseled through in the rock. At least that way she can sleep with her back to the wall. 

The omega returns with wet hair like he dunked his head under the faucet to wash. He uses one of the extra pieces of white cloth to dry off and sits next to Furiosa on the bed. She can see the welts on his back clearly even in the low, flickering light. 

"Do you want the wall or the side closest to the doorway?" Furiosa asks, turning down the wick and casting the room into darkness. 

The omega considers for a long moment, rubbing the white cloth over his head so his hair sticks up in a messy tumble. "Door." 

Furiosa nods and shuffles over, getting under the blankets and leaving room for the omega next to her. It's a narrow bed, only a few feet wider than the narrow wall niche Furiosa slept in before her prowess in battle earned her a room of her own. His shoulder presses against her as he stretches out on his stomach, skin hot against her bare arm. He faces away from her, one hand holding onto the edge of the bedframe like he's ready to spring up if anyone comes through the open doorway. 

Furiosa's never liked sleeping with someone else in the room; it makes her edgy, half expecting an attack at any moment. Yet for some reason, the omega doesn't set off her nerves the way anyone else would. It's only been a few days, but his scent and the heat of his body feels so familiar to her, like he's an extension of herself – a limb she didn't know she was missing until now. She finds herself quickly lulled into a doze by his steady breathing next to her and the strange peace of knowing he's tucked up close against her side. 

\-----

The Organic Mechanic arrives in the morning to examine the wives. He leers approvingly when he finds Furiosa in the omega's room, but his eyes go wide when he realizes she's taken the muzzle off. 

The omega snarls at him immediately, crouching like he's preparing to attack him. Furiosa restrains him with her hand on his upper arm. "What do you want?"

Organic licks his lips, his eyes locked on the omega as he backs up several steps. "Eh, I need to do an exam, check on his progress—"

"You saw him yesterday," Furiosa points out. She stands up to put herself between the two of them, her hand held behind her in a restraining gesture. She's not sure that she'd even be able to stop the omega if he decided to attack. The Organic Mechanic certainly deserves a beating, but if that happens the omega will likely end up locked in chains for the remainder of his pregnancy. 

"Need to do a thorough one," Organic says. "Get his vitals. It's important. Prenatal." 

Furiosa signs and presses her lips together. If the Organic Mechanic doesn't get his way, Joe will hear about it. "Outside," she says. "I'll bring him down." 

The Organic Mechanic nods and flees quickly through the curtain. Furiosa can hear him hurrying down the stone stairs as she turns to look at the omega. He frowns at her, his jaw set.

"I know it's hard to believe," Furiosa says. "But the man knows what he's doing. It would be good to have him look at your back."

The omega snorts and looks away. He knows as well as she does that the Organic Mechanic doesn't care about the whipping he got from Joe beyond how it might affect his pregnancy. 

Furiosa moves into his line of vision, ducking her head and forcing him to look at her. "I'm sorry, but this part of the compromise of being here instead of in a cage."

He meets her gaze, his jaw working as he processes this. "Maybe I was better off in there." 

"Maybe," she says. She doesn't know what to add, so she says nothing. There's no good argument to convince him to submit to the Organic Mechanic's exam. It's a choice between dignity and compliance, and it's his decision alone. Only he can determine how many concessions he's willing to make to his captors. Furiosa remembers choosing defiance many times, until the cost became too much to bear. 

The omega's eyes grow unfocused as he thinks, drifting down to stare at her left shoulder. "You'll come?" he asks, hesitancy still clear in his tone. 

"Yes," she says. 

His eyes waver, still undecided, and drop further to the bare stump of her arm. She half expects him to ask about it, but instead he presses his lips together and nods to himself. He gathers up the sheet from the bed as he stands and tugs it over his shoulders to cover himself. "Fine," he says. 

The Organic Mechanic has set up his operating theater in the middle of the atrium on top of a long wooden table. Angharad is lying on it on her back, staring up at the ceiling with a pointed lack of interest in the proceedings, the swell of her stomach made obvious by her position. Miss Giddy is standing next to her while the other wives are gathered on the hard chairs in front of the blackboard waiting their turn. 

The Organic Mechanic looks up at the sound of their footsteps, his stethoscope swinging as it dangles from one ear. "Ah, good, good." He shooes Angharad off of the table. "Go on, girl, I'll finish with you later." 

The omega approaches warily and watches as the Organic Mechanic sweeps the table with his hand and pats it to indicate where he should sit. "Come on now, no reason to be shy!"

Furiosa takes Miss Giddy's spot standing next to him, although the old woman stays nearby. As soon as the omega is seated, the Organic Mechanic whisks away the sheet pulled over his shoulders. He starts his exam by checking his heartbeat with the listening horn on the end of his stethoscope. The omega flinches at his hand on his chest, but Organic pays it no mind, listening to his breathing and pawing at his wrist for a pulse. 

"Strong," he says, jotting down a few words in the margins of a book he's using to take notes. The pages are filled with his crabbed handwriting in between the typeset words. Furiosa peers over his shoulder, trying to read what he's writing. She knows her letters, but the Organic Mechanic's scribbles are completely illegible to her. He might be writing down a number or a message for Joe or an obscene poem for all she knows. 

"Any nausea? Morning sickness?" Organic asks, and Furiosa can't tell who he's asking, her or the omega. 

"No," she says finally, confirming it with a brief glance at the omega. 

"Hm, still early," Organic says. "Has he been eating well?"

"Yes," she says. 

"Good, watch for loss of appetite. He needs all the nutrients he can get after living feral. Has he been getting his orange ration?"

"Yes," Furiosa says, crossing her arms and leaning against the table. 

"At least half of a fruit per day," Organic says, like she doesn't remember from her own time in the Vault. "No skipping. I want him getting as much as possible while there's a fresh crop."

"Mhmm," Furiosa says, quickly growing tired of acting as the omega's surrogate. She glances at him, but he's spaced out, staring away into the distance like he doesn't know they're talking about him. 

The Organic Mechanic only tries to speak to him once, snapping his fingers in front of his face to get the omega to focus on him. "How many children previously?"

The omega gives him a sullen look and doesn't answer. He jumps slightly as the Organic Mechanic tugs on the cloth tied around his waist. 

"Come on," Organic says, leering down at him. "You've clearly had one from the stretch marks. Was it to term?" 

The Organic Mechanic glances at Furiosa when the omega doesn't answer and she shrugs. "I don't know." 

"Fine, fine," he grumbles, putting his instruments away and clearing off the table. He uses a piece of string to measure the omega's belly next, getting a baseline measurement and adding it to the notes in his book. When he's done, he reaches up to press on the omega's shoulder, trying to push him down. The omega snarls in response and the Organic Mechanic jumps backward and stumbles in his rush to get away.

Furiosa steps in between them. She checks that the omega is all right — he looks more irritated than traumatized — and turns to the frightened Organic Mechanic. "Are you done?"

The Organic Mechanic hesitates and licks his lips. "I need to do a pelvic exam."

Furiosa doesn't have to look at the omega to know that there's no way that's happening today. "No." 

The Organic Mechanic starts to protest, but Furiosa cuts him off. "He can't lay down on his back"

"What — oh, right." The Organic Mechanic licks his lips again and scuttles around to look at the omega's back for the first time. He prods at a few of the welts while the omega winces before deciding his doctoral duties have been fulfilled. "Nothing infected," he says. "Keep them clean and they'll heal fine." 

Furiosa nods, relieved that they're finally done. The omega is hunched forward and looking haunted after the unwelcome exam. Furiosa's struck by the urge to fuss over him and reaches up to press down a tuft of his hair that's standing up at the back of his head. It springs up again immediately, refusing to be tamed. She should really trim his unruly hair at some point. Joe would have wanted it kept long if they'd realized he was a breeder when he first arrived, rather than having him sheared like any common captive. 

The omega climbs down from the table and goes to sit with the other wives. Furiosa follows and picks up the sheet from the ground to put it back around his shoulders. It might be better to return him upstairs, but he seems to draw some strength from the women's comradery. They shift to make room for him and Capable actually braces her arm on the back of his chair. They all have their white veils drawn up around their faces, matching the omega's covering.

The wives are united in disdain for the Organic Mechanic. They watch each other's exams with a suppressed anger that feels like a shared indignity rather than voyeurism. Miss Giddy goes with each of them to the table, holding their hands or simply standing by as a sympathetic presence. When the Organic Mechanic is finally done and packing his bag to leave, Furiosa goes up to her. 

"How do you stand it?" she asks. "Standing there and watching... everyday." She doesn't mean to be accusatory, but it comes out sounding that way. 

Miss Giddy doesn't seem insulted, only giving Furiosa a soft look. "I try to think of it as being there for the girls, rather than enforcing his will. Helping them isn't nothing."

Furiosa shrugs and looks away. There was no history woman when Furiosa was a wife. She wonders if it would have made a difference. Probably not, although there is something comforting about Miss Giddy. She makes Furiosa think of the older women who guided her through her childhood and her initiation. They seemed to hold the secrets of the universe, although in the end even that knowledge wasn't enough to save Furiosa. 

She turns away and goes back to the omega, who's settled next to Dag and Cheeto on the floor. The two women are giggling over some shared joke, shaking off the oppressive humiliation of the morning. The omega isn't laughing with them, but he seems calm sitting next to them and listening. There's something to be said for the shared ties of prisoners kept in the same cage.

——-

Furiosa isn't surprised when she wakes up to the omega shouting in the middle of the night. He's often restless in his sleep, and occasionally violent. Tonight, he flails with the blankets, yelling something unintelligible and nearly striking her when she sits up next to him. He flinches hard when he recognizes her and jerks away to curl in on himself, hiding his face. 

"It's okay," Furiosa says, because she doesn't know what else to say.She reaches out cautiously and rests her hand on his shoulder, only a light touch to see how he'll respond. He inhales deeply, but doesn't push her away as she curls her fingers around his bicep. His muscles tense under her fingers, and she can feel tremors running through his flesh. 

"You're okay," she says, murmuring soft meaningless words as she settles down behind him. "Sleep now, everything's okay." They both know that's a lie except in the most immediate sense that at this very moment no one is trying to hurt him. 

The omega takes another deep breath and turns over with surprising speed. Furiosa jumps as he latches onto her arm, his grip painfully tight. 

"There," she says, reaching up to touch his face. His eyes are squeezed closed like he's afraid to open them. She strokes his cheek and he burrows closer to her, sinking down beneath the blankets. She feels almost sick with the need to comfort him, her heart twisting in her chest at the sound of his ragged breathing. 

Instead of calming him, her touch seems to stir his anguish to new heights. He presses his face hard against her shoulder and lets out a long, painful whine. It's a horrible sound, like he's carrying so much hurt inside of him that he can't even find the voice to express it. Furiosa holds the back of his head, not knowing what else to do. She wants to put her arms around him, but she's afraid of hurting him with his back still so torn up from Joe's belt. 

He's panting ragged against her chest, hot gasps of air that quake with suppressed sobs. His breathing is so loud and distorted that it takes several moments before she realizes he's saying something. He keeps repeating it, the same words over and over in between hitching breaths. 

" – sorry, 'm sorry, I'm so sorry – "

She thinks he's apologizing for waking her up at first, or maybe not being able to calm down. "Shhh, it's all right."

He shakes his head and sniffs, inhaling deeply. "I tried, I swear. I never should have – shouldn't have. It should be yours."

Furiosa finally understands what he's apologizing for. "No, no, don't say that." She tugs on his hair, pulling his head back so she can look at him. His eyes are wet and glimmering in the dark. He looks so lost, like he's desperate for a lifeline that will pull him back to sanity. "It wasn't your fault. Don't say that."

He shakes his head, looking away from her as his mouth twists into a painful grimace. "I could have, if I'd fought harder – I let them take me and I barely – I just let it happen." He squeezes his eyes shut, looking like he might be sick. 

"That's not true," Furiosa says, stroking her fingers over his brow and through his hair. "You know that's not true. You were so fierce, he was afraid of you. That's why he beat you."

He shakes his head in response, not seeming to really hear her. Instead he turns his face away and starts begging her for forgiveness once more. She wishes she knew his name so she could soothe him with it. Maybe she could use it to call him back to her. But it's not fair to ask when he's so badly shaken. She doesn't want to take it from him while he's frightened and in a compromised state of mind. 

"I don't want this," he mumbles, speaking toward her collarbone so she feels the rumble of his voice against her chest. "It should be yours. I wanted _you_."

"I know," Furiosa says, pressing her lips to his forehead. "I know, but it doesn't matter." She catches his chin and pulls his head up, forcing him to look at her again. "It's your child, that's all that matters." 

He tries to pull away from her, still speaking compulsively while she holds his chin. "But it shouldn't, I should have, I could have – "

Furiosa shakes her head sharply. "No, that doesn't matter to me. All that matters is that it's yours. Listen, I've never been—" she has to take a deep breath, willing herself to continue. "I was never in your position. When I was a wife." The omega looks up at her at that, surprise showing on his face. "I never got pregnant, so I don't know what you're going through, but you don't owe me anything. Okay?"

He nods slowly, really looking at her now. Back with her. 

Furiosa keeps talking to keep him focused on her, and also because once she starts it's hard to stop. "I was a child when I was stolen and they didn't realize what I was. I didn't either, not really." She knew she was different somehow, part of the small group of boys and girls who underwent a separate initiation, but she hadn't yet learned all the secrets of adult relationships. 

"The Green Place, where I grew up… it was much different from here. They didn't treat alphas the way they do here." She breaks off, looking away as she tries to gather herself together. It's painful to speak about her home and to remember how different life had been there. She'd never been taught that she was superior, meant to be near the top of some arbitrary pyramid where alphas dominated all others. She didn't act like the Citadel expected alphas to act, so it was easy to mistake her as a typical beta female, especially as an adolescent. Being a "typical" female meant being easy prey, a lesson she learned and internalized quickly. 

The omega turns over, his eyes searching her face for something. "How'd they figure it out?" 

Furiosa sighs and shifts around to settle on her back next to him. "When I couldn't carry children. But it took… a while." That discovery heralded another arbitrary shift in her status, but one that she accepted eagerly for the freedom it seemed to offer. Still, it had been something of a blow to realize she would never be one of the Many Mothers in the literal sense. "I didn't understand until then."

"Hm," the omega sniffs. "Lotta people think that, but it's not true."

She frowns at him. "What?"

"Female alphas can have children. You're like me, you need a mate and the right circumstances." 

"Hm," she says, not really believing him. "Maybe." 

He snorts at her. "It's true! I knew women who had twins even. You shouldn't trust what these people tell you. They don't know anything about alphas and omegas. Or men and women, for that matter."

"Maybe," she hedges again. Whether the Citadel's doctrines are right or wrong matters little in their present moment. Immortan Joe has set the rules by which they all must live, and Furiosa has learned to work within them on her rise to imperator. The omega will have to do the same, one way or another. It's the only way to survive. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first new update in a long while. Also crossposted to the [kinkmeme.](http://madmaxkink.dreamwidth.org/450.html?thread=1783234#cmt1783234)

Furiosa's days become centered around the Vault. She spends most of her time with the omega, watching him heal and soothing his strange moods. He settles into a detached apathy that barely disguises the fact that he's constantly on the edge of panic. 

It's a relief when Furiosa is called away for some task and can escape their glass cage and the suffocating helplessness trapped there. A relief and a torture; guilts eats away at her for leaving him behind. She felt no guilt the last time she escaped the Vault. She was too distracted by the terror and uncertainty of her own existence to think about her fellow prisoners. Now she seems constantly caught between wanting to escape and wanting to go back for what she left behind. 

For better or worse, there's little for her to do outside the Vault aside from the occasional maintenance on the war rig. Joe hasn't assigned a new driver, so it's still her responsibility to keep it running. Thankfully there hasn't been call for a supply run yet; she's not sure how she'll handle seeing another imperator's steering wheel in _her_ rig. She worked so hard to reach this point and now it's all slipping from her grasp. She likes to think that she's uniquely capable of navigating the twisted hierarchy of the Citadel and Joe's unpredictable moods, but once again her fate is out of her hands. 

Furiosa comes back late in the afternoon after arguing with the mechanics in the chop shop for hours. She has to check their work constantly or risk them cheating her with inferior parts. No doubt they sense her weakness; there's no reason to follow the orders of a fallen imperator. 

When she returns to the Vault, she finds the omega in the same position she left him in, lying on his side on the bed. His eyes are open but he doesn't look up as she enters the room, nor does he lift his head as she sits down next to him. 

He has a dirty piece of muslin draped over his shoulders, the thin fabric doing little to hide the dark lines stripping his back. The welts from Joe's belt have mostly closed, but there are still a few ugly, raised scabs. They should be fully healed by now, but the omega has a bad habit of scratching at them and making the scarring worse. 

"Have you been here all day?" Furiosa asks. He doesn't answer, so she reaches out to rest her hand on his cheek. He twitches and lifts his head in surprise, like he hadn't noticed her right next to him. He startles backward a few inches before he recognizes her. 

Furiosa hums softly and tries to soothe him in apology. His beard is getting long, and she strokes the back of her hand over the whiskers on his chin and cheeks. She always seems to be touching him, whether on purpose or not. It's odd, she's never been prone to tenderness before. She has to remember to be careful. Such touches aren't a problem in the isolated confines of the Vault, but whatever her orders, Joe wouldn't be pleased to catch her fussing like this over _his_ omega. 

"Have you been here all day?" Furiosa asks again, adding, "did you eat?" He blinks at her, his eyes still unfocused. His forehead creases as he mulls over the question. Eventually he raises his shoulder in an indifferent shrug. 

Furiosa goes downstairs to look for food. There are some cold vegetables from the evening meal left in a heavy iron pot in the atrium. They're not very appetizing, mostly root ends and boiled green scraps, but they taste fresh enough. She scoops some into a clean bowl along with a few other odds and ends left from the wives' meal. Leftovers. She forgot about that too, the abundance of food here and how it becomes its own suffocating form of confinement. 

The omega turns away when Furiosa shows the bowl to him and mumbles that he's not hungry. 

"Starving yourself won't help," she says, fishing out the end of a carrot and taking a bite. "The child will take what it needs and you'll just end up losing teeth."

He ignores her. She shrugs and eats some more before lying down next to him. She leaves the bowl on the floor in easy reach in case he changes his mind. 

The food is still there in the morning when Furiosa wakes. She eats the last of it herself and goes down to the atrium to see if the morning meal has arrived. 

It hasn't, but several of the women are seated near the Vault door waiting. The angry one, Angharad, raises her head and nods at Furiosa as she approaches. 

"Does he ever come down here?" Furiosa asks, nodding back toward the stairs and the omega's room. 

"No," Angharad says. "Not when you're not here."

Furiosa didn't expect her to say otherwise, but the confirmation is worrying. 

The red-haired one next to Angharad gives Furiosa a puzzled look. "Is something wrong?" she asks. Furiosa stares at her. "Something specific," she clarifies.

Furiosa shakes her head and any further questions are cut off by the arrival of two war pups carrying covered platters and bowls. They're acolytes, freshly-painted from attending Joe. They avoid looking at the wives and bow to Furiosa before they leave. 

She collects a sampling of the food on offer and returns to the omega's room with a pitcher of water and a tray balanced on the crook of her arm. He has his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, but she can tell from his breathing that he's not. 

"There's some kind of mush with nuts and dried fruit," she says, setting down the tray. She picks up a bowl and sits next to him on the bed. She prods his side with the nub of her arm and he opens his eyes. She holds the bowl out toward him, but he shakes his head and screws up his face in distaste. 

She eats a few bites herself, finding it's surprisingly sweet. "It's good," she says, offering the bowl to him again. "At least try it."

He sits up and knocks the bowl out of her hand with a flick of his wrist. Furiosa jumps, not anticipating the sudden movement, and the bowl falls to the ground with a crack and a splatter of mush. 

She has her hand raised to hit him before she catches herself. If he was a war boy she would backhand him and make him clean up the mess. He doesn't flinch away from her like she would expect, but instead sits frozen and stares, waiting to see what she'll do. 

Furiosa lowers her hand and flexes her fingers, trying to relax the tension in her arm. She kneels to pick up the broken pieces of the bowl. It was porcelain, a priceless antique from the old world. Now it's a pile of scraps. 

The omega curls in on himself while she cleans the floor. He looks miserable. His eyebrows are drawn down and his forehead is lined like he's worrying over something but can't put words together to say what's wrong. 

Furiosa should probably _know_ ; she's supposed to be able to read his every thought through some primordial alpha instinct. But whatever key she's supposed to have is lacking, and his thoughts remain cryptic and hidden from her. She's not sure if it's because of the circumstances of their meeting, or if it's a failure on her part. Either way, there's nothing she can do to comfort him. She sweeps up the last shards of porcelain into her palm and dumps them on the tray to carry away. 

"I feel sick," the omega says, announcing it to her back when she reaches the door. 

She stops and turns, irritated now that he couldn't tell her something so simple. "That's normal." 

"I _know_ what's normal," he says, and turns over, deliberately putting his back to her. Furiosa stares at the tense muscles of his shoulders for a moment and leaves, not knowing what else to do. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally some more smut in this kinkmeme fill. 
> 
> (Same author anon, just made an AO3 pseudo since I'm not very good at anonymity)

Furiosa goes back to her room in the imperators' tower, or what's left of it. It's still a ruinous mess from when she tore it apart during her rut, and returning brings back uncomfortable memories of being locked inside and helpless to get to her omega. Even freed she's not much help to him. 

She lies on the floor to sleep but instead broods about how useless she is as an alpha and how far she's fallen in the hierarchy of the Citadel. After a few sleepless hours she decides that she's being stupid. Anyway, staying away from him isn't doing the omega much good either. 

She returns to the Vault and finds it hushed and silent. The only light in the atrium is the yellow smudge of the moon reflected through the dirty glass. It casts a sickly light over the stairs as she ascends to the omega's room. 

He's asleep and Furiosa sits carefully on the bed to take off her boots, alert in case he startles awake. He stirs when she lies down next to him, but doesn't react otherwise. 

Furiosa sleeps unevenly, sinking into unconsciousness only to surface again at the sound of the omega shifting or mumbling in his sleep. Her waking and sleeping moments blend together, the sound of his breathing entering into her dreams seamlessly. 

It's still night when she comes fully awake, stirred into awareness by a repetitive rustling nearby. The room is silent when she opens her eyes and she stares at the shadowed shapes around the bed. She thinks at first that it was only a dream, until she hears another rustle and realizes the room is silent because the omega is holding his breath. 

Furiosa lets her breathing slow, closing her eyes and pretending to relax even as her mind remains wide awake. The silence stretches on, but Furiosa is patient. She lies still and waits until she hears the omega stir again beside her. 

He shifts, causing the bed frame to creak and there's a soft scratching sound of nails on bare skin. 

Furiosa listens to the furtive sounds for several minutes before she's sure of what's happening. The sheets shift softly and there's the dry scrape of skin-on-skin, a rustle of movement followed by long seconds of silence and then the same rhythmic rustle again. 

Furiosa considers continuing to pretend to be asleep, or shifting to discreetly signal that she's awake. Instead, she turns over, making the omega gasp and freeze in place as she settles her hand on his hip. 

"Can I help?"

The omega makes a startled noise of denial and pulls one leg up like he's trying to cover himself—not that she can see anything that's happening under the sheets. 

Furiosa squeezes her hand lightly, feeling the sharp point of his hip bone under her hand. He goes utterly still and she waits, not pleading or encouraging, but keeping her hand on his hip. 

After a long moment she realizes he's not even breathing, his eyes fixed on the wall away from her with a vacant look that has nothing of anticipation in it. She takes her hand back and turns away from him. "Sorry."

Furiosa sits up. She should leave, find somewhere else to sleep in the Vault or go back to her room. She gets to her feet and starts toward the door before the omega moves to stop her. 

"Wait—" he croaks, his voice strangled. She hesitates over the bed as he clears his throat. "I—yes."

Furiosa shakes her head and takes a step back. "Forget it, it's not a good idea."

He snorts and reaches out to catch her wrist. "No," he says, coughing again. "But… you're supposed to be, ah, taking care of me, aren't you?"

Furiosa doesn't know how to respond to that; the omega sounds teasing, but having it said so blandly feels like an accusation. She looks down at his hand wrapped around her wrist, unsure what to do. 

The omega tugs at her arm and pouts, pursing his lips in a way that's almost comical. Furiosa wants to laugh, but for some reason his expression makes her insides go weak. When he tugs on her wrist again she goes with him, letting him pull her back onto the bed. 

The omega lies on his side and pulls her down behind him so her front is pressed against his back, and her good arm is draped over his waist. Furiosa sighs and rubs her palm over his chest, feeling the lines of his ribs and the rise and fall as he breathes. "You have to tell me if you change your mind."

"Mhmm," the omega says, distracted as he loosening the cloth wrapped around his waist and pushes it out of the way. He takes Furiosa's hand, and she lets him pull it down to touch his cock. 

He's hard, of course, and he hisses as she wraps her hand around him. He feels hot, overheated and sticky with sweat. She strokes him once and then slips her hand down between his thighs, reaching past his balls until her fingers slide into wetness. His breath hitches as she traces the edges of his opening. She takes her time slicking her fingers before returning to stroke him again. 

The omega squirms against her, muttering to himself and holding onto her wrist tightly as she works his cock. Furiosa presses her face against the back of his neck, nosing against the bumps of his spine and breathing deeply. His scent seems to sharpen, filling her senses as he gets closer to orgasm and his hips begin to hitch forward. 

Furiosa runs her thumb over the head of his cock, further slicking her fingers with precome. The omega's muttered words grow more insistent, his voice getting stronger until she manages to make out, "tell me—need to hear you, say it's okay—"

"Shhhh, it's okay now," she says, moving her mouth to whisper against his ear. "Go on, I want to watch you come—"

His body goes rigid and he tilts his head back as he finally reaches orgasm, his hips twitching erratically under Furiosa's hand. Most of his come ends up on the bed sheets, but she catches a bit on her fingers and raises them to her lips. It's thin and almost tasteless, just a slight hint of salt and bitterness. She's heard that omegas don't produce much sperm, which might be why. She wipes her hand on a corner of the sheets and then uses it to clean him as well. 

The omega turns over and pushes his face against her collarbone, breathing in deeply as he presses close. The tickle of his breath makes Furiosa smile against the top of his head. There's a strange blooming pride in her chest, pleased with herself for pleasing him and bringing him to this relaxed, satisfied state. 

His hand slips down from her side to snag on her waistband and tug at the fabric of her pants. "Can I…?"

Now it's Furiosa's turn to stutter out a denial as he looks up at her eagerly. "Uh—"

"Please?" he asks, pouting again. "I want to see you." 

Furiosa hesitates out of habit more than any distrust of him. She's used to her anatomy being the subject of constant curiosity and fantasy. Over the years she's become guarded with her body, not wanting to deal with the invasive questions she usually encounters. But the omega should know what to expect. She's reasonably sure he had a female mate once. Plus, it seems only fair considering how much of his naked body she's seen already. 

Furiosa opens the lacings on the old, threadbare pair of pants she wears to bed. She lifts her hips and pushes them down her legs, kicking them off and baring herself to his gaze. Her clit is already painfully hard, swollen bigger that of a "typical" beta female, but not yet fully extended. 

The omega makes a soft noise and shifts closer, but doesn't reach out. Furiosa's fingers are still slick from the omega's fluids, and it's a relief to finally touch herself. She tugs at the base of her clit, encouraging the compressed organ inside to slide out into the open. Compared to the omega's cock, her own phallus feels slender and delicate. Of course, it's somewhat deceiving in this early state of arousal, before her knot has started to swell and fill out. 

Furiosa looks at the omega as she starts stroking herself, taking in his open mouth and slightly awed expression. Far from making her feel self-conscious, his attention makes her stomach tighten up and her clit pulse in her hand. Furiosa spreads her legs slightly, making room to properly enjoy herself, and the omega licks his lips. 

"Can I—uh?" 

"Hm?" Furiosa says, nudging his shoulder to get him to look at her.

His expression is slightly scattered, glancing side to side before he meets her eyes. He licks his lips again. "Can I touch you?" 

Furiosa smiles. "Yes." 

He touches her hand first, cupping her fist as she strokes herself. Furiosa lets out an appreciative sigh, encouraging him to continue. The omega tangles his fingers with her own, hesitant at first as he lets her guide his motions. The teasing touch makes Furiosa shiver, twitching at every brush of his fingers. It makes it that much better when he pushes her hand aside and takes over completely. 

"Yes, like that," Furiosa says, planting her feet on the mattress and arching up into his fist. She can feel her knot starting to swell, the almost painful feeling of it and the growing need for pressure there. The omega slides his hand down and squeezes her right where she wants it, making Furiosa inhale sharply. 

"God, you're big," he says, slack-jawed as he stares down at her. 

Furiosa can't help the laugh that escapes her. "Not really?"

The omega looks up in surprise, his brow furrowed. "Yes?"

Furiosa snorts. "Okay," she says. There's no point in arguing about such a ridiculous statement, at least not when he's holding her in that perfect, tight grip.

The omega frowns again and moves away suddenly, releasing her knot in the process and making Furiosa moan in disappointment. He turns over and crouches beside her, getting on his hands and knees on the bed. 

"You should knot me," he says, matter of fact. 

Furiosa shifts away from him in surprise. "I don't think—"

"Please?" he says, the same pleading look as before. It's unfair for anyone to have such full lips. "You didn't get to, and—and I'd—I want you to." 

Furiosa's had plenty of former bedmates who wanted her to knot them, but she's only tried it twice and both times ended in disaster. Once had just been uncomfortable and disappointing, but the second time she'd actually injured her partner. He'd been fine in the end, had even laughed about it later, but the sight of blood on the sheets had made her decide never to try it again. 

Both of those partners were betas, of course, and their bodies weren't built for it the way the omega's is, but Furiosa is still unsure. Can an omega take a knot out of heat? She'd been under the impression it was only possible under the influence of mating hormones. 

She moves to kneel behind him, which is a mistake because he lowers his head and arches his back, _presenting_ himself to her like he's back in heat even though she knows that's impossible. Furiosa can't stop herself from touching him. She cups his ass—warm, smooth skin under her hand—and uses her thumb to open him up further. 

The omega makes an impatient sound, a whine that rises in pitch as her thumb grazes his opening. Furiosa shuffles forward between his legs, moving closer and pushing her thumb inside his slick, hot hole. 

"Please, please," he says, a pleading litany. He tosses his head as she circles her thumb inside him and uses her knuckle to massage his opening. " _Please_ —your knot, wanna—let me feel it." 

Furiosa's thumb slides out with a slick sound, leaving his hole empty and fluttering before she replaces it with the tip of her phallus. The omega whimpers and cants his hips higher. "Give me," he grunts. "Give it, knot me— _Furiosa_."

She's expecting resistance as she pushes inside, but instead his body opens around her half-full knot with a quivery jolt, a reflex out of his control. She slots in place like they were made for each other. 

As soon as she's fully inside, the omega clamps down and Furiosa's knot expands so quickly she feels momentarily dizzy. He's so, _so_ tight and he feels _so good_. She wants to pin him down and fuck into him, but he has her locked in place now and all she can do is grind against his ass. 

The omega pushes back, bracing his elbows on the bed and groaning with a deep, endless rumble. It's impossible to hold out against him for long. Furiosa plants her hand between his shoulder blades as she comes, holding him down and spending herself in wave after wave of pleasure. She's vaguely aware of the omega whimpering under her, his hips rocking up helplessly as she spills inside of him. 

Furiosa takes a long breath and sits up when she's done, taking in the delicious sight of him stretched out in front of her. They're still tied, of course, and will be for several more minutes. She lets her hand play across his back, stroking up the hollow of his spine and over his broad shoulders. Joe's ugly marks are still visible, the raised scars catching on the pads of her fingers, but his body is all warm muscle and solid strength. He's trembling slightly and his skin gleams with sweat in the faint light of the moon. 

Furiosa rolls her hips and feels his body flex and shift, savoring the tight pressure still locked around her knot. The omega looks over his shoulder and reaches for her, his hand catching her left arm above her stump. "Come here," he says. "Cover me."

Furiosa bows forward and rests her weight on her elbows so her front is pressed against the omega's back and her arms are tight around his sides. She kisses his jawline and he turns his head to nuzzle closer to her. She licks the sweat from his face, savoring the salt and the rich scent of his skin. She understands, finally, the difference between sex and mating. She had no idea it could be like this. 

Furiosa shifts her weight to her left elbow so she can get her hand free and run it down the omega's stomach. She traces his soft belly and finds the line of hair that goes from his navel to his groin. She stops when she reaches his cock. He's still soft, which sends a little jolt of concern through her, cutting through the haze of lust.

"'S okay," he says. "Still feels good."

She makes a worried noise in response and nuzzles against his shoulder. She doesn't like the implication that he isn't getting anything out of taking her knot. It makes her chest tighten with worry, and she loses the comfort and ease she felt a moment ago. She cups his cock and balls, rolling them gently in her palm as she tries to stir a response from him.

The omega takes her wrist and pulls her hand away, moving it up next to his head and lacing their fingers together. "Like this—that's good."

She sniffs, still unsure but wanting to give him whatever he needs. She rests her cheek on the back of his neck and closes her eyes. 

They stay like that for a long while, the room quiet except for the sound of their mingled breathing. Furiosa's knot goes down but she makes no move to get off until the omega starts stirring underneath her. He shifts his weight like his knees are bothering him and she decides they've had enough. He still lets out a disappointed grunt as she lifts away, her deflated knot slipping out easily.

"Ssh," she says, lying down next to him. "So greedy." 

He grunts and flops down next to her, resting his head on her shoulder. She raises her hand to pet his hair, which is even more unruly than normal now. She sighs. "That was okay?" 

He huffs softly. "Hm, pretty okay." 


	5. Chapter 5

Furiosa wakes to the distant sound of gunfire and cheering. The omega is pressed against her side, warm and familiar even if it takes a moment to remember why. She peels herself away from him and gets up to see what's happening outside. She stands on the end of the bed, balancing carefully on the soft mattress as she peers out the high window above. The view is warped by the glass sealing them inside, but she's able to make out the bright light of flares being set off from the roof of the Citadel. 

Joe is calling his allies. Undoubtedly the wretched will have started to gather below, although Joe won't make his speech until after the convoys arrive. 

The omega rolls over, causing the mattress to shift under Furiosa's feet. "What is it?" he asks, his voice rough. 

"They're signaling Gastown and the Bullet Farm," she says, lowering herself down to sit cross legged beside him. "It's time to negotiate the next season's trade." 

He frowns at that and pulls himself up to take her place at the window. He's slightly awkward on the unstable platform of the bed, rising up on his toes and clutching the window ledge in an effort to pull himself higher. 

Furiosa studies the omega as he peers outside. His uneven hair looks even more ridiculous when it's rumpled from sleep, and his beard is starting to get unruly. She's going to have to clean him up properly. Joe always wants to show off his wives when there are guests in the Citadel. 

\-----

Furiosa leaves the vault to get supplies from her room. She searches for the debris still scattered across her floor until she finds a pair of steel scissors. They're one of the finest things she owns, elegant compared to the dull shears the Organic Mechanic uses on his prisoners or the razor blades the war boys sharpen nightly.

When she returns, the omega is lying on his back on one of the pillows in the atrium watching Capable and Angharad play a game. They've drawn several rows of chalk circles on the floor and are taking turns moving small stones around them. 

Furiosa takes one of the wooden chairs next to the chalkboard and brings it over to the omega. "Sit down."

He barely glances at her as he gets up, still watching Capable and Angharad's game. Furiosa examines the uneven results of his shearing, careful of the spots where the Organic Mechanic nicked his scalp. The cut that Miss Giddy treated is healed by now. The black stitches are sunk deep into new scar tissue and probably should have been removed days ago. She snips the stitches out carefully, pulling the thread free while the omega makes a face. She was worried the sound of the scissors might set him off, but he seems calm enough. 

She starts trimming his hair, searching out the longer tufts the Organic Mechanic missed. She tries to even it out to the same length, using her fingers to guide her cuts. Her attempts to fix the cowlick at the back of his head only seem to make it worse. She licks her thumb and flattens it down with spit out of frustration. 

"Am I being prettied up?" the omega asks, his head bowed as the clippings of hair pile up on the ground. His tone is light, almost playful. 

Furiosa pauses to sweep the loose hair off of his shoulders. "There'll be a feast tonight, after everyone arrives." 

"Big day," Angharad says, sitting back from her game. "We get paraded out for a scintillation evening as table props."

The omega raises his eyebrows and gives Furiosa a look. " _Out?_ "

"Yes," Capable says. "All the way to the other side of the tower." 

"Don't get excited," Angharad adds. "The view's the same." 

"Trade." The omega hums to himself, apparently deep in thought digesting this information. "So... this Gastown and… Farm.... they aren't controlled by Joe?"

"Bullet Farm," Furiosa says, frowning as she concentrates on trimming the hair above his right ear. "Joe needs Gastown for guzzoline and the Bullet Farm for ammo, but most of their men are War Boys loyal to Joe."

"Gastown's a refinery?"

She nods. "20 barrels per day, supposedly. It's straight south of here on the asphalt road. Joe sends a tanker with a crew to trade whenever we run low."

"Furiosa leads them," Angharad says, looking directly at her for the first time and fixing her with pale eyes. "You drive the war rig. Don't you?" Capable looks up from their game to stare as well, both watching closely for her answer.

Furiosa shrugs and wipes her forehead. She doesn't like the intensity of their looks, although she understands the hunger for outside information. "I do as commanded." 

She doubts that she'll ever make another run again, unless she can get back in Joe's good graces. Irritated, she turns away from the women and back to the omega's hair. She compares the length on both sides of his head and finally decides it's as neat as it's going to get. He looks slightly less ridiculous, although there are still several bald patches from scars and wounds on his head. 

The omega quirks his eyebrows at her, silently asking __are we done?__ She tilts his head back in response and examines his beard. It's equally uneven, with longer whiskers on his cheeks and the underside of his chin. She trims a few spots and decides to neaten up the edges along his neck. Joe would probably prefer him clean shaven, but it seems like a waste of time when he's so hairy that it will all grow back in another day.

Furiosa takes a folding razor out of her pocket and flips it open. The omega's eyes widen, but he doesn't pull away as she rests the numb of her left arm on his forehead to hold his head in place. 

He grunts in concern as she touches the razor to the side of his neck. "I can do that."

"No," she says. "Don't talk." She starts shaving him with careful strokes. The razor is sharp enough that she doesn't need to apply any pressure, simply letting it glide lightly over the skin. She draws the razor carefully up to the point where his neck meets the underside of his chin, creating a clean line outlining the edges of his beard. 

"Wives aren't allowed sharp objects," Angharad says, running her fingers over the nest of white scars on the side of her face. Furiosa ignores her, but the omega looks if anything more concerned. 

Furiosa takes her time, not wanting to risk cutting him as she works her way around his adam's apple. If she nicks him that will probably be the last time he lets her hold a razor against his neck. 

When she's done she exhales softly to blow the fallen hair away. The omega shivers slightly and swallows. 

"There," she says, folding the razor up. She brushes his shoulders off with her hand and blows once more to clean the remaining hair away. 

The omega swallows as Furiosa takes his chin and turns his head back and forth examining her handiwork. He looks considerably less wild now. 

"The Gastown Boys will love you," Toast says with a wink, getting a confused look in response from the omega. He reaches up to feel along the sides of his face and neck, examining Furiosa's handiwork, and grunts with what might be approval. 


End file.
